Scarves and Roses
by Easily Distracted0720
Summary: Summary: A scarf got them a little closer to each other and fairies were playing at matchmaking. Watch Ivan and Arthur as they finally notice each other, the seed of attraction finally given its chance. Rating changed, just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Scarves and Roses

**Rating**: So far K-T... If I do multichapters, it'd be M for sure.

**Genre**: Romance, so far

**Pairing**: RussiaXEngland, minor pairings to be decided sometime later

**Summary**: A scarf got them a little closer to each other and fairies were playing at matchmaking. Watch Ivan and Arthur as they finally notice each other, the seed of attraction finally given its chance.

Ivan stood in front of the wrought iron gates of England's home, eyeing the Victorian house beyond bowed trees and thick rose bushes, deciding that it was considerably different from his own home. Even at night, everything was vibrant, full of life- it made him slightly uncomfortable. He was used to the cold, the almost endless sea of white that encompassed most of his land. The larger nation compulsively tried to hide his face in his scarf, only to remember that it was gone, that England had it and it was the reason he was there to begin with.

Earlier that day, the European countries had had a meeting regarding each nation's environmental status. He had been sitting between England and France- to prevent them from bickering and mostly to avoid Belarus and her obssessive proposals. He should have known that with England's fiery temper and France's teasing, any argument, no matter how irrelevant or harmless, was bound to get violent.

It was the worst to date and Russia, who had not thought much of England, had decided never to criticize his less than satisfactory cooking. How the topic of his cooking had come up between garbage disposal and waste management, Russia would never know. Of course, he had never tasted England's food before so there was really nothing for him to judge. In any case, everyone in the meeting had also been reminded how England had managed to own a third of the world once upon a time.

His scarf had been one of the victims of the island nation's wrath. England, in a fit of anger and brief absence of common sense, had grabbed his scarf to wrap around France's neck. There had been a struggle until the sound of ripping cloth reduced the chaos into tense, deafening silence. All eyes had landed on the ruined scarf, Ukraine promptly bursting to tears and Belarus glaring with her dagger in her hand.

The Russian had been too shocked to move, eyes trained on the ripped scarf his older sister had given him in their childhood. In her outrage, Belarus had attacked the two nations. Despite their disagreement, England had stepped forward, shielding France from Belarus' attack and had promptly disarmed her. He had calmed himself down and had apologized to Ukraine, promising that he would fix the scarf himself. Ever the gentleman, he had taken a clean, white handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her to wipe her tears.

He had handed the dagger back to Belarus, apologizing to her as well. He had turned away from her before she could retort and had taken the pieces of the scarf, approaching Russia with all the dignity and courage he could muster.

"I apologize for this, Russia," he had said sincerely, their eyes meeting. All Ivan could do had been to stare. "I'll fix this, I promise. It will be ready by tonight."

He had smiled at him then, resisting the urge to grab his beloved pipe from within his thick coat and thrash him with it. "I will come to your house tonight, da?"

The island nation had nodded, relieved. Germany had taken that time to conclude the meeting before anything else could happen and the rest of the nations had been more than happy to leave.

Looking back, England hadn't acted like he normally would in that kind of circumstance. There had been more than fear in those green eyes. The fire and steel in his gaze had arrested Russia and had kept him from making his own brand of chaos. There was a wildness in those depths that pleasantly sent shivers up and down his spine and the smaller nation had been trying to get it under control. No one had ever looked at him in that way before and now he decided that he liked it.

With a resolute nod and a painfully cheerful smile, he pushed the gate open and strode through the brick path.

The blanket of night settled across the sky, the clear splash of twinkling stars a welcome sight in Arthur's home. Seated on a wicker chair under the night sky, the island nation busied himself with his task, knitting needles and the makings of a garment in his hands. Slender fingers, callused from long ago wars and exploits, deftly and swiftly wound and knotted soft, pale lavender yarn with ease and expertise.

Tiny fairies, glowing with their own light, fluttered about happily. Some were trying to assist him in his task, untangling the different colors of fine yarn while others played and chased each other around the flower bushes. One of the unicorns who had strayed from her herd was grazing in a small patch of grass, not minding the mischievous fairies hiding behind her. For England, it was the most peaceful night he'd had in days.

Caught between America, France and his siblings for the last few days had strained his patience beyond its limit, causing him to lash out the way he did at the meeting. Heavens, he already knew his cooking sucked, he didn't want the bloody frog rubbing it in every time he got the opportunity. It wasn't like he didn't try to improve.

The worst part of it all was when Russia got involved. He had not been in his right mind at the meeting. If he were, he'd have stopped the moment he touched the damned scarf. He had been absolutely terrified the moment he heard that tearing sound and only his dignity made him stand tall in front of the frightening nation. He also would have thought twice about inviting the Russian over. Thinking about it now made shivers run up and down his spine and his knees weak.

Nothing could be done though, he thought. A gentleman like him would never go back on his word. He sighed, eyes roaming over the almost completed scarf then continued working.

Russia rapped on the door once more but again no one answered, his smile wavering. Had England forgotten that he was going to visit or was he hiding from him? The first thought made him inexplicably angry but the second seemed more plausible than the first, mollifying him somewhat. England was not the kind to forget his obligations, that he was sure. Even when they hadn't paticularly liked each other in the past, the older nation had been nothing but true to his word.

He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. It would be so easy to break the door down and it would be justified, but he was neither rude nor illiterate, not like America, who he just knew had done so before. Looking at the door, it seemed that it was unhinged quite recently, considering the new screws that did not quite fit with the overall antiquity of the house.

He lifted his gloved fist to knock at the door when the perfectly polished knob turned and the heavy oak door with the beatiful, intricate carvings of roses, creaked open. Poking his head inside, he was surprised to note that England wasn't the one who answered the door. In fact, there was no one there at all.

A little suspicious, the nation frowned. What kind of game was England playing? Then his smile brightened. Whatever this was, it certainly had his interest. He stepped through the door and into a wide hallway, noting the mirrorlike polish of the white marble floor under his feet and paintings hanging on the walls. He walked in further when something cracked under his boot. Looking down, he found a little walnut and a small distance away was another walnut, then another and another.

It created a line from the front door to one of the doorways down the hall. He followed the walnuts with a smile, picking them up off the floor one by one. Through the doorway, he found himself in England's drawing room. It was large and very cozy. Across the doorway was a fireplace that had been previously lit, ash and embers dying away slowly and on its mantle was a detailed miniature of a ship bearing the name Victoria. In front of it was a low, wooden table, with several books stacked on top and a small vase of white lilies and roses. Around the table was a burgundy velvet couch large enough for three people to sit on and three other chairs of the same design strewn about.

Bookcases lined the wall on his right, nearly reaching the ceiling and filled with books all worn from frequent reading. He recognized the antique vases from China and various paintings from France, Italy and other masterpieces. The walls were painted in the rich tones of wine and the ceiling like decadent cream. Opposite the bookcases were large bay windows, velvet and gossamer curtains drawn back and tied with a wound, gold cord, and a slightly open door.

The trail of walnuts led outside the door and Russia followed it obediently. Opening the door as quietly as he could, he snuck a peek and found a magnificent garden of various flowers. Beyond it was a ten foot high wall of different colored roses with an arched pathway in the middle. A maze perhaps? Lamps hanging from the gnarled trees standing sentinel around the garden brought it light and life, and in the middle of it all, sitting alone on a wicker chair, was England. In his hands Russia could see his scarf and a pair of knitting needles working with practiced ease over it.

His distinct, thick eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and his lips were pursed in a most adorable pout. His mess of wheat-blonde hair swayed in the light breeze, falling over his bright, green eyes.

Entranced, he leaned against the doorframe, watching and his smile widening.

The fairies tittered excitedly amongst themselves, their happy chatter lost in the wind as Arthur worked on the final touch on the scarf. He was as good with embroidery, sewing and knitting as he was bad with cooking; he'd been doing it ever since he could remember, patching up the measly cloak and robe he had worn in his childhood. This scarf was obviously loved and taken care of, he noted. It was old, a few lines of thread had gotten loose- nothing he could not repair- but it was very clean and soft. He had to admit that he didn't expect Russia of all nations to be this caring of his possessions. It had to be very important to him, which made the island nation even more guilty of his offense.

Arthur finished the last petal of the small sunflowers he added on the scarf, stretching and raising it to the light. He scrutinized every knot and stitch of the scarf with a critical eye, pleased with his work. He smiled, hoping that Russia would feel the same. Small hands tugged on his hair and he waved the little buggers away- gently, of course. He did not notice the little creatures looking from him to the lone figure approaching him quietly.

A shadow blocked the light from the lamps, obscuring Arthur's vision. Scowling, he turned to glare at whatever it was and tell it to move. Needless to say, he'd been very surprised to find the hulking Russian standing behind him, wearing his customary heavy coat minus the scarf which was still in his hands. The Englishman nearly jumped out of his skin, almost knocking his chair back. Fortunately, Russia was strong and quick, his gloved hand darting out to grab the back of the chair and stop its descent. Arthur became aware that his chair was still tipped back, though, and Russia was looming over him with an enthusiastic smile.

"Russia, what are you doing here? How did you get in?" Arthur exclaimed, Russia's scarf clutched tightly against his chest. His eyes were wide with shock as he stared at the Russian's upside down face above him.

The Russian tipped his head to the side, smile vanishing and replaced with confusion. "England said to come tonight to get my scarf, _da_? And I went through the door." Then he smiled. "Is it done? May I see it?"

"Oh, of course," Arthur immediately responded, offering the mended scarf to its owner. "If you could just, um, straighten my chair up? Uh, please?"

Ivan obliged, getting the chair to stand in all its legs before he reached a gloved hand to his scarf. Carefully taking it from England, he inspected the worn fabric and was delighted to see the tiny bundle of sunflowers.

"It is beautiful! So much better than before!" He touched the sunflowers with his thumb, his smile turning wistful. "I love sunflowers." He eagerly wrapped the scarf around his neck and nuzzled against it, the sunflowers visible to everyone who'd look.

England watched in fascination, an answering smile tugging at his lips. Never had he seen Russia like this before and he decided that he liked him this way. He didn't dare say it out loud (he'd probably cause WWIII) but Russia was cute with the way his violet eyes lit up with childlike glee. He immediately caught himself, face flushing in embarrassment, and cleared his throat, standing up from his chair and getting the Russian's attention.

"I'm glad you approve of it, Russia," he began. "Once more, I apologize for that mishap. Shall we call it even?"

He took his hand out for a shake, a smile on his lips. Violet eyes carefully studied him, almost making him squirm but he held himself still by sheer will and dignity. He was about to pull his hand back but was thrown offguard when Russia beamed at him and gathered him in his arms, his smaller body lifted as easily as if he weighed nothing at all. His heart pounded in his chest and the flush on his face became impossibly brighter when Russia kissed each cheek.

"_Da_, we are even, England. I forgive you", he whispered near his ear, voice uncharacteristically low and husky. In the blink of an eye, he returned to his normal self, childlike smile back on his face as he placed England back on his feet. "I will be going now. I will see you at the world meeting?"

"Uh, y-yes," Arthur stuttered, trying to gain a semblance of his composure. "Have a safe trip home."

Russia nodded and went out the way he had come in. When he was finally gone, Arthur sank onto his chair bonelessly and breathed out. What in hell had just happened? He touched the spot on his cheek, uncomfortably noting that for all of Russia's coldness, his kisses positively burned- and not in a bad way.

The fairies and even the unicorn crowded around him, worried, but he took no notice of them. Instead, he muttered solely to himself, "I never did find out how he got in here."

At that, the fairies scattered abruptly, disappearing in clouds of fairy dust. The unicorn fled through the maze's entrance and vanished. Startled, Arthur straightened on his chair, narrowed eyes looking about him. Ah, so that was it. Shaking his head, he stood and strode to the house, shutting the door behind him.

Puffs of fairy dust filled the garden, little heads poking from behind the lilies and the carnations. The tiny beings looked at each other and promptly fell into giggles, nearly doubling over in their laughter. Oh, this would be just perfect, they thought. Arthur had been alone long enough and, though he had them for company, they knew that their friend could not spend the rest of his days without a mate. They recognized the rather cold nation as soon as he walked through the gates. He had been summoned quite a few times in Arthur's atelier and with good reason.

Perhaps, they could do something else to get them together? It would take more planning though. Arthur was surprisingly very astute when his fairies were being particularly mischievous but was sadly oblivious in everything else- which was good in this case. Even now, the fairies hadn't told him what he was doing wrong during his summoning, that he had been doing a different spell altogether. Well, he was a good sorcerer if he put his mind to it and the fairies knew he'd realize it when the time was right.

Author's Note: There! Finally done! Um, I'm not sure if you guys will like this. I'm still thinking if I should leave it as a oneshot or not. It depends. Heh. I know it's an unusual pairing and it certainly needs a lot more love. Anyways, I hope you can give me feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**BIG THANK YOU'S **go to all those who reviewed, put the story in their favorites and alerts lists and actually read my story. This would not be posted if not for you guys. You know who you are!

On with the CHAPTER!

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Ivan retreated to his office as soon as he woke up, sitting on the leather chair in front of the wide, maple table, a bottle of vodka on a sliver of space unoccupied by paperwork and a half-filled glass chilled in several cubes of ice in his hand. As usual, the fireplace was lit- Lithuania had probably left it burning as was his habit nowadays- and it was a comfort from the unforgiving cold of the north. He appreciated the gesture greatly and would have thanked Toris if he didn't know that the smaller nation would most likely drop dead from shock. He started chuckling as soon as he imagined the look on his former territory's face.

With a slight shake of his head, he took one of the documents on top of the high stack and began his paperwork. Hours passed and before long, the once full bottle of liquor had been reduced to less than a third. Most of the paperwork were done, divided in two neat piles, one pile with his signature while the other had none. He could finally see the desk's surface and had enough elbow room. He closed his eyes and rubbed them firmly, breathing a deep sigh of relief. Almost done, finally. Lulled by the vodka's almost soothing effect, he allowed the smile he wore to gradually slip away as he stared into the roaring fire, violet eyes dimming slightly as he became thoughtful.

Even after all this time, being in England's house made him remember and yearn for warm sunshine, gentle rain and meadows as green as the eyes could see. England's house was brimming with life and it was no wonder the island nation was so animated, so passionate, so vivid. Ivan was suddenly envious of him. He had once heard that the island's terrain was rough, the climate reprehensible with all the constant rain. Rain was much better than blizzards, though.

Downing a large gulp of vodka and pouring himself another glass, he wondered exactly why he hadn't noticed how interesting England was. Granted, there was a vague fascination from centuries ago but nothing that truly made him want to know more about England beyond his simple observations. He had never really talked to the smaller nation outside of battle, alliances or meetings, either, (excepting those times he'd been summoned mysteriously into England's basement- and even then, the moments were brief) and last night was the first time they had touched beyond a simple handshake.

His lips still tingled with heat and he could almost feel the porcelain smoothness of the island nation's cheeks, his scent filling his senses of sweet dewdrops and rain, of the ocean air and fragrant roses- England's scent at its purest, before pollution and industrialization. When he had wrapped his arms around that slender body, he'd felt so small and fragile, yet there was that inner strength. Just the thought of holding him made Ivan's heart beat a little faster and admittedly, it was strange and it boggled the mind, feeling strongly about someone else, but not unwelcome. Perhaps... it would be good to pursue friendship with him. He had already made Ivan feel more alive than ever before and in just a mere moment. Ivan was sure it would be to his benefit.

The fact that he was so adorable, particularly when teased, was, as America would say, "the icing on the cake". So many expressions would flit across his elfin face, those distinctly thick eyebrows adding to the intense emotions in his green eyes. France was not right in saying they were unattractive simply because they were perfect on him, he thought. They made him even more expressive.

Footsteps echoed across the hall outside his office, jarring him from his thoughts, and feminine voices, along with a curious sound of, er, jiggling, drifted into his ears, one angry while the other pleading. He visibly flinched upon hearing the first, his instinct screaming at him to hide, but became slightly calmer with the second, gloved fingers clenching on the smooth, leather armrests of his chair as he valiantly stopped himself from running away. He looked at the door then glanced at the wide window on his right then back to the door. He still had time if he decided to run. He was sure China would let him stay in his house for a couple of days and the window was just a few steps away- too late.

The door burst open, banging on the wall behind it loud enough for the whole house to hear. He could've sworn the walls shook from the impact. Belarus stomped her way to his desk, her beautiful face set in a fierce frown as she slammed her palms on his desk. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders and her eyes, much like his own, were alight with crazed fire. He could see her twitching, probably reaching for the knife strapped to her thigh. Trailing behind her, Ukraine entered breathlessly, one hand curled against her chest, the other braced on the doorframe. Her overalls were slightly crusted with dirt and there was a little smudge on her cheek partially hidden by her short, blonde hair. Her eyes were shut tight as she gathered her breath.

"He must die," his younger sister announced, looking the part of an avenging angel, though Ivan knew she was anything but that. "He must be punished. I can do it for you, brother." Ivan blinked, a little startled and confused, fear momentarily forgotten, while she watched him expectantly. Who was she talking about? More importantly, what could he possibly say to that? "I'll make sure he regrets what he did, brother. Just give me the word and it will be done."

Katyusha's gasp came like a little hiccup. Blue orbs were wide as she rushed further into the room, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. "Vanya, you mustn't allow her to do such a thing! I will mend the scarf for you! There is no need for violence! I'm sure it was only an accident- a misunderstanding!"

"Be quiet, Katyusha!" Natalya shouted at her older sister. "It's only right that I avenge brother, you and myself! He ruined the scarf you made for brother! We were disgraced in front of everyone! You should be angry, too!"

Ah, so that was what they were talking about. Funny, Ivan had already forgotten about what happened yesterday. His mind had been thoroughly swamped with good things, especially about a certain nation with hair like wheat in the sun and eyes as vibrant as meadows. He did not notice the smile that lifted the corners of his lips as he recalled the bright flush spreading from England's nose to the tips of his ears.

"See, Katyusha?" said Natalya, aiming a triumphant smirk at their older sister. "Brother agrees with me. England will be dealt with and no one can protect him."

"Enough," came Ivan's command, the childlike lilt in his voice gone and replaced with the frigid cold he was known for. His narrowed violet eyes were dimmed and sharp, his face hardened like the ice of the tundra. "There is nothing to avenge." His elder sister sighed in relief while his younger looked like a lioness deprived of her prey. An unmoving glare stopped her from making any protest and left her sulking. He might be frightened of her and her obssessive nature but that did not mean he would tolerate disobedience from her.

With a huff, she stomped her way out of his office, slamming the door shut behind her. The Russian could have sworn he heard something crash somewhere in his house. It had better not be from his wine cellar or there would be hell to pay. He glanced at his older sister, noting that some of the tension on her rigid shoulders had eased though she was trembling.

"I think England made good with his promise, _da_?" he said cheerfully, deciding to put her more at ease. Like a flipped switch, his whole demeanor changed, the easy smile he usually wore brightened and softened his face dramatically. With that, he showed off his mended scarf and the little enhancements the island nation had added, not needing to pretend his pleasure as he was wont to do to make Katyusha more comfortable around him.

Katyusha positively squealed in delight as he expected, her tears gone and her smile vibrant. "Vanya, it's wonderful! Much better than what I would have done!" She cast him an imploring look and when he nodded, she took the end of his scarf and looked at it more closely. "I've heard that England was very skillful in clothing. It doesn't look like it's been torn at all."

"_Da_, I know," the Russia agreed. "I want him to be my friend."

Ukraine went still and there was the silence and that growing tension. She took a deep breath and said, "I think he will be a good friend." Without the need to ask, she stepped forward and held his cheek in one small, delicate hand roughened by farmwork. "You have to be careful with him and treat him right, Vanya, or he will slip away from you." _Like everything else_ was left unspoken though they both knew it was there.

"You make him sound like either a pet or a lover, sister, and he is neither," he teased gently, rubbing his cheek against her warm touch. "But I know what you mean."

She smiled then, full of love and support, as she withdrew her hand. "I have to get going now. I have a lot of work to do."

Ivan nodded. "Will I be seeing you at the meeting?"

"I will try to go, but I don't think I will make it," she said thoughtfully. She paused as if considering something then said, "maybe, you can tell me all about it at my house?"

"I would love that very much," said Ivan. He watched as she went out the door, closing it behind her gently, listening to her slowly fading footsteps.

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The World Summit was going to be held in Paris of all places and Arthur was, obviously, the first of the nations to get there, arriving a good three days prior to the meeting. Alfred said he would be arriving early and would be dragging Matthew and, probably, Kiku with him, if Greece, Turkey or China would allow it. Still, he had not specified how early he'd be there. He could arrive at least five minutes before the meeting itself, which was far more likely.

Arthur sighed in defeat. He was left with quite a bit of time in his hands with nothing to do and no one to spend it with and he absolutely refused to spend it with Francis after that traumatic "welcome" he received from the Frenchman. Bloody frog did not have the right to grope him publicly in a crowded airport terminal, all the while crying in relief that he had not died a bloody, painful death by metal pipe. He had decided then and there that he would be staying at a hotel rather than risk murdering Francis in his sleep.

"_Monsieur _Kirkland, here are your keys", said the petite, brunette receptionist behind the desk, disrupting his fantasy of drowning the frog in the wine he loved so much. "Dion will be taking your luggage, _monsiuer_. You will be staying at the _Suite Paradis_."

"Ah, _merci_," Arthur replied in perfectly accented French, smiling as the receptionist positively glowed. Just because he didn't like Francis and everything he stood up for did not mean he could not appreciate his language- though he'd rather die than admit it.

He mindlessly followed the tall man, carrying his lone bag, around the crowd of tourists at the lobby, thinking of taking a long, hot bath then visiting the Louvre and possibly the Eiffel Tower. He went inside the elevator, still deep in thought, unaware that no one else had come inside the elevator besides himself and Dion and another pair. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as the temperature dropped dramatically.

"Ah, Arthur, you're here, too!" said a familiar, cheerful voice that sent innumerable shivers up and down his spine, some in fear, while others- he did not want to think about it. "I thought I would be spending the next three days alone but here you are! Isn't this lucky?"

"Yes, very lucky indeed," he muttered. He turned to the tall, light-haired man still wearing the same thick coat, a slightly altered scarf and a bright smile. Smile a little forced, he said, "hello again, Ivan. Aren't you a little early for the meeting?"

They had never called each other by their human names before but it was a necessity for nations when in the company of humans. Arthur valiantly tried to avoid thinking of how his name sounded so perfectly from his lips.

"I could say the same of you, comrade," Russia replied with a shrug.

Comrade? _Comrade_? Since when did Arthur become Russia's _comrade_? The Englishman blinked as he said uncertainly, "well, I've always been early at meetings."

Russia nodded. "I know. I, however, had a different reason," he confessed. "I had come early so that Natalya would not know where I am. She does not know that there will be a meeting and I'd rather not tell her. She traps me in meetings much easier than at my house." He shuddered and England hastily gave himself a mental slap as he thought how cute Russia was. "I do not want to deal with her and marriage again- at least for a few days."

"I see," Arthur replied. Honestly, what in hell could he really say to that without coming out as a blunt, sarcastic... Englishman?

"I knew you'd understand," he chirped happily. "Say, would you like to go sightseeing with me? I have not been in Paris for a while and well, a companion would be nice for the next three days, wouldn't you agree?"

Bright violet eyes looked into his own hopefully and England couldn't turn away. Again, what could he possibly say besides the obvious?

Arthur took a deep breath. Really, what's the worst that could happen? "I'd be happy to accompany you."

"That's wonderful," Russia exclaimed, his smile finally reaching his eyes. "Maybe you and I can go later? I will meet you at the lobby at four o'clock, then?"

"That would be perfect," said Arthur, aware that spending time with Russia did not sound as bad as, say, spending a week with his siblings, Francis and Alfred altogether.

Now _that_ was a disaster and a story best left alone.

The elevator chimed at its first stop and Russia, still beaming, said, "ah, this is my floor. I will see you later."

Russia waved enthusiastically as the doors shut, Arthur also waving in return. The Englishman's smile slipped as he wondered if this was a good idea but could not bring himself to retract from the arrangement.

At least, the next three days promised to be eventful.

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Author's note: So in the end, I decided to continue. :D To my readers, please expect me to be a little slow in the updates. My work schedule changes every now and then and it might take me some time. Next update will probably next week, can't tell the exact date, though.

Please don't forget to give me feedback. I kinda feel that the ending to this chapter was a little rushed. Leave me a note if you have any questions. The fic may also not be too historically accurate so correct me if I'm wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Again, thank you to everyone who read the story, placed it on their story alert and favorites lists and left me a comment or two. I'm glad that the second chapter pleased everyone and I hope the third will, too.

**Disclaimer**: Hetalia does not belong to me. I wish it did.

**Chapter 3 **

It was close to four o'clock in the afternoon, Ivan noted as he glanced at his adjusted wristwatch while wrapping his scarf around his neck. His smile was wide and radiant, his excitement palpable despite his seemingly calm exterior. He couldn't wait to spend the next three days with the island nation, whose suite was right above his, thanking his good fortune that there had been some strange system error in the airport causing his flight to be scheduled earlier than he had desired. Throughout the flight, he had wondered how it was possible for all the scheduled flights to Paris be overbooked one minute then cancelled the next as soon as he boarded the plane.

What was once an inconvenience certainly became great advantage and Ivan was going to make sure it was not wasted. Eyeing himself in the mirror with approval, he went out of his suite and shut the door, careful to lock it behind him, then marched onward to the elevator. Once inside, he had a fleeting hope that he'd meet England on the way down and they would be able to talk with just the two of them but it was not meant to happen. Instead of the island nation, he had tourists with him in the elevator- mostly American, and their boisterous talk and laughter grated on his nerves **(no offense meant, guys; just the typical Alfred and Ivan kind of thing)**.

It took great effort for him to stay still and ignore the noise, especially from one of the men who acted just as obnoxiously as America, itching to use his pipe but realizing that he had left it back in his suite to try to look unthreatening. When the elevator stopped at the lobby, he was the first one out, grateful that he didn't have to spend any more time in the cramped space.

Like his suite, the lobby was expectedly luxurious and stylish, nothing less than one would expect from France. It had a classic feel to it, from the velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling and the lush carpets and rugs strategically placed on top of polished marble floors to the elegant, modernized Louis XIV furniture and the grand crystal chandeliers.

He would have appreciated it more if it weren't so crowded and he was thankful, at least, that he was more than a head taller than most of the people in the hotel. It would make it easier to find the island nation in the throng of people. He passed through the maze of tourists, scanning the crowd for wheat-blonde hair, thick eyebrows and the body attached to them and found his companion sharing tea on a low table with a couple, face wreathed in a smile as he chatted with the pair, porcelain tea cup held delicately in his hand.

He strode confidently toward the smaller blonde, and as if his presence was sensed, those green eyes turned to him. To his surprise and pleasure, the smile did not fade like he expected and again his heart began to beat faster. The island nation nodded to him regally before he turned back to the couple, exchanging words before he stood and walked toward Ivan with an easy gait, meeting him halfway.

"Shall we be on our way?" asked the Englishman, none of the usual fear visible in his face. "Paris is best explored by walking. Where do you want to go?"

"I am not sure. It's been a while since I visited and I don't remember much of Paris. What do you recommend?" Ivan asked, the evident joy in the other's face making him more excited.

England looked thoughtful, brow creasing slightly as tapped his chin with his finger. "Well, I was thinking of going to the Louvre Museum earlier", he began, eyes trained to the ceiling. "It's just a twenty minute walk from here. Maybe we could also go to the Seine River and grab a bite from there?"

"Sounds wonderful", Ivan responded enthusiatically, clapping his hands in front of his chest. "Shall we go?" He gestured for England to go ahead of him, noticing for the first time with amusement that the island nation barely reached his chin.

England looked at him with an incredulous smile though his eyes revealed that he was pleased, something that made Ivan proud for some reason. "You need not do that. I am not a _lady_," he said teasingly but he did allow himself to walk ahead, slowing down until Ivan was walking beside him.

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The sun felt wonderful as they stepped out of the hotel, and though it was far from quiet with cars and motorcycles going down the streets, it was incomparably better than the rush inside. Cozy restaurants, outdoor cafes and souvenir shops lined up most of the street and Arthur grudgingly reminded himself to buy souvenirs for his siblings despite the fact that they could certainly buy them on their own should they want to.

"It seems that you are in a very good mood today, Arthur," the tall Russian remarked as they began to walk down the street, disrupting the smaller nation's thoughts. "Did something good happen?"

Arthur chuckled. "You could say that. Do you recall the couple I was speaking to earlier?" He waited for a response and continued once he saw Russia's nod. "They were newlyweds in their honeymoon. I could tell that they were meant to be. Their love will endure even in other lifetimes."

"Ah, so you are happy for them, _da_?" Ivan ventured, watching the subtle play of emotions in those green eyes.

"Yes, I am happy for them. Love like that cannot be found so easily. They are lucky," Arthur replied, wanting to stop there but it seemed his mouth had a different idea. "And I am a little envious, too, I suppose."

Curious, Ivan carefully looked at him, head tilted to the side and asked, "how so?"

"Maybe because I have been alone for far too long and I want...", he sighed. "I want something like that." He chuckled again, albeit humorlessly and his usual, bright eyes were dimmed with weariness and sadness. Ivan hated it. "Forget what I said. It's just the ramblings of an old man."

He didn't know why he had just said those things to Russia, the psychotic nation everyone was afraid of and made even Alfred stop to think, but it just seemed right. Maybe it was because he was acting perfectly sane- eccentric perhaps but still sane.

Decidedly taking his mind off the angst lest he become irritable and unsuitable for company, he glanced at Ivan from the corner of his eye. It was the first time that Arthur saw the Russian in casual clothing and the effect astounded him. On a purely aesthetic standpoint, the island nation decided that Russia was quite attractive and found it a shame that the larger nation would hide it under the blasted coat he always wore during meetings. The scarf was still around his neck, of course, but today he wore a simple cream-colored, long-sleeved turtleneck that fitted appropriately around those broad shoulders and muscled arms. It flattered his wide chest and his tapered waist and narrow hips, the flat of his belly detailed by its silhouette.

He also wore black slacks, the garment slightly loose around those muscular thighs and legs, leaving almost nothing to the imagination and on his feet were rather large, black leather shoes, polished to perfection. Combine that with his white-blonde hair, gleaming silver under the sun, those breathtaking volet eyes and the ever present smile and he looked the part of the ideal male.

Unknown to the Englishman, Ivan was also thinking along the same lines. So busy he was with his own thoughts that he had not noticed the Russian doing more or less the same thing. Like England, he had never seen the island nation without a proper suit with tie and vest or his old military uniform and, like England, Ivan found him just as attractive.

The island nation was wearing a simple white dress shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons at the top undone, exposing a small expanse of pale skin and the tip of a faded scar right by his collarbone. There was a thin black cord wound around his neck three times with a small, silver pendant of a dragon rearing on its hind legs and its wings outstretched dangling in the middle.

He wore a tight pair of faded, blue denim pants, the material hanging low over his narrow hips and secured by a black, leather belt and on his feet were a pair of comfortable loafers. The tight pants left nothing to the imagination as it covered his small, round bottom and his shapely thighs and legs like a second skin. Earlier, Ivan had a tantalizing view of said rear the moment England had stepped ahead of him, eyes enraptured as he watched the light sway of those hips. He had suddenly wondered what it would be like to cup that bottom with his hands, catching himself and refraining from banging his head repeatedly on the wall.

_'England and I will be friends. __**Just**__ friends,'_ he mentally chanted over and over again.

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The Louvre was probably just as remarkable as it was during Arthur's last visit except for several pieces added into its vast collection. He was glad that Ivan had particularly enjoyed the glass pyramid entrance, childlike wonder and awe reflected so vividly on his face. They had grabbed brochures and a miniature map of the museum from the reception area, throwing it away the next second as they had decided to just get lost in the museum.

Currently, they were looking through the classic pieces, from Leonardo da Vinci to Andrea del Sarto to Francesco Primaticcio and breathtaking pieces from Dutch and Flemish masters were also in abundance. The mysterious Mona Lisa was also a part of the collection and they watched her with thoughtful gazes.

"She has such an enigmatic smile, doesn't she?" Arthur asked thoughtfully as he and Ivan stood side by side in front of the masterpiece. As he studied her further, head tilting cutely, he turned his gaze to the Russian, who was also smiling, and went back to the painting. "Her smile reminds me of yours."

He turned to England with an innocently curious gaze. "Eh?"

"Your smiles are both difficult to read", the island nation explained more clearly.

Enlightened, the curiosity was replaced with the usual carefree smile. "_Nyet_. I think it's very easy to understand."

Arthur waited for him to continue for several moments, but when Ivan didn't, the Englishman's eyebrows raised in inquiry, growing impatient. "Well?"

"I think that will be our little secret," Ivan teased.

The island nation punched him lightly on the arm, before thinking better of it. "Scoundrel", he called the large nation. When his mind caught up with what he just did, he froze and watched Ivan for any kind of reaction.

Ivan didn't seem to pay any mind to the small transgression and his smile widened but was still unreadable. Inwardly though, he was happy that they were becoming a little more familiar with each other and that England was becoming more comfortable around him enough to actually hit him. Usually, he'd see him do the same on a select few, namely France and America.

"I try", he replied playfully, earning a startled glance and a surprised smile.

Arthur cleared his throat, becoming more composed. "I think the Egyptian exhibit is just around the corner. Shall we?"

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Time passed by so quickly inside the museum and before they knew it, it was already eight o'clock. To his mortification, England's stomach began to growl very loudly in protest as soon as they were out of the museum, a striking blush spreading from the tip of his nose to his cheeks.

Russia chuckled. "I guess it is time for us to get something to eat."

"I believe so", the Englishman mumbled agreeably, his face still red. "There are some good restaurants over the other side of the Pont des Arts", he suggested.

"Then we shall go there and get some dinner and probably go back to the hotel", the Russian accepted before he covered his yawn with a hand. "Ah, excuse me. The trip here had been long and I haven't had much sleep."

Struck suddenly with concern and distinct brows furrowed, England placed a hand on Ivan's arm, his warmth seeping through the cloth of his sleeve. "You should have told me sooner if you were tired. Maybe we should head back to the hotel and just have dinner there?"

"_Nyet_. We go as we planned. I am not _that_ tired", he insisted, quelling the island nation's protest with a blank stare. They had a short staring contest then, before England conceded, muttering under his breath.

_Stubborn oaf_, _thick-headed fool_, _couldn't be bothered to say he's tired_ and _I'm too old for this_ were a few he heard the Englishman say, but instead of being upset, he found it quite endearing. It was further proof that England was more comfortable with him.

They began to walk across the narrow bridge, Ivan's eyes straying to the calm waters of the Seine River as the stars twinkled on its surface. Couples were scattered around the bridge, enjoying the quiet ambience with the soothing, romantic music playing from the distance. The pair became a little uncomfortable as soon as they saw the couples become more intimate, sharing kisses and sweet nothings to each other.

"I feel as we are intruding", Arthur whispered softly as they passed yet another couple heavily engaged in a kiss as if it were their last. He watched the torrid play of tongues with sick fascination and a growing blush, his conservative side telling him to turn away and he did, averting his gaze to his shoes.

_'Honestly'_, he thought, almost angry with himself as he attempted to control his embarrassment. _'It's not as if I hadn't seen or experienced these before.'_

Russia swiveled his gaze to the sky, focusing on the single, brightest star he could see. He replied, in an equally soft voice, "I feel the same. I am glad we are almost across the bridge."

The larger nation snuck a quick glance to his companion, seeing the adorable blush growing hotter and brighter, despite the darkness of the evening and the dim lights. He would have teased him if he didn't see the smaller nation gaze longingly at a sweet couple standing by the railing, their words inaudible as they spoke to each other in hushed voices.

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The restaurant they decided to dine in was a small, cozy French restaurant overlooking the Seine. It was alive with light music and conversation and busy with the mass of people, mostly small families, inside. It had been easy to get a table for just two.

It was apparent that they made a very striking pair. Eyes turned and followed them across the rather busy establishment as a flustered, young lady led them to their table. They sat opposite each other in a discreet corner beside the wide window of the restaurant, scanning the menu in relative silence while their server waited by their table.

Arthur smiled at the girl. "We'll have a bottle of your finest red wine and, " with a glance to Ivan, "a bottle of vodka."

"_Oui_, _monsiuer_", she said with a nod and a blush, handing them their menus. She returned later with a tray bearing a pair of glasses and the bottles of wine and vodka resting on a bucketful of ice cubes then served each of them a glass of their preferred drink.

Once they made their orders, the server took off and left them to their privacy. It was then that the pair began to feel slightly awkward with each other. Moving around in a museum had been fun and there was a lot to talk about that did not include focusing on each other. Now, it seemed they were hardpressed to find common ground while avoiding each other's gazes.

"So-" they started at the same time, stopping short as they waited for the other to speak. When no one made even the slightest sound, they said, again simultaneously, "You first."

They became quiet again, still anticipating, then, "No, you first." Arthur suddenly burst into laughter, Ivan following not far behind with a giggle of his own. Once they calmed down, the Englishman wiped a tear at the corner of his eyes.

"I have to say, tonight was probably the best night I've ever had," England remarked, taking his glass of wine in hand and taking a tentative sip. He was going to control himself tonight or he'd probaby embarrass himself while drunk.

"Were you expecting it to be bad?" Russia asked in good humor, though his voice betrayed a little sadness at the thought.

"With you, I'm afraid I don't know what to expect," said the smaller nation honestly. Then he smiled. "But I think that's the good thing about it."

"I'm glad that you had as much fun as I did," said the larger nation. "Tomorrow will only be better, _da_?"

"I know it will be," answered the Englishman resolutely. "We could probably go to the Eiffel Tower tomorrow night and have dinner there. The view is simply outstanding from the top floor- just don't tell Francis I said that or I'll never hear the end of it."

Russia smiled. "_Da_. It will be our little secret."

Dinner progressed quickly and soon the food was abandoned in favor of embarrassing, childhood stories and least known facts and gossip about the other nations. Ivan had not spoken of his childhood as much as Arthur did and he did not press the larger nation. He might not know what exactly happened, but he was not totally ignorant and oblivous of his history to ask something that may cause him pain. Instead, he tried to bring out Ivan's laughter as he told stories of himself in his childhood and adolescent years.

Soon it was time to go. They crossed the Pont des Arts then passed by the Louvre to their hotel. The stories continued all the way to the elevator until it stopped with a shrill chime at Ivan's floor, opening quietly before them.

"Well, I guess, I'll be seeing you tomorrow then," said England, raising his hand for a shake.

Russia grinned at him, sighing a little as he took the proffered hand. "I cannot wait."

He didn't let go of the warm hand held in his larger one, feeling that he should be doing something but could not fathom what. Instead, he gave it a light squeeze before coming out of the elevator.

He turned to the Englishman, gentle violet eyes meeting soft green orbs. "Sweet dreams, Arthur."

"You, too, Ivan," Arthur replied, waving at the Russian as the door slid closed. There was a warm, fluttering sensation in his chest as he leaned against the wall of the elevator.

The elevator slid open on his floor and he made his way to his suite in a slow, dreamy pace, shutting the door behind him with a sigh. Walking into the bedroom, he gathered his things and went into the adjoining bathroom for a nice warm bath before going to sleep.

Body soaking in a tub of warm water and thick foam and bubbles, England began to replay the night's events in his mind. He had thought he'd regret his decision at first, but Russia proved him wrong. It was the most fun he'd had in years.

Despite the fact that they had been on a _friendly_ outing- nothing special like, say, a _date_- it gave the Englishman a slight, pleasing boost in his ego to be with a man as attractive as he. It was reminiscent of his empire days when he had wanted to flaunt whatever rare treasure he had found, to make everyone see and understand that the treasure was his.

If he hadn't been so terrified of Russia half the time, he'd have... He'd have... what?

On the suite below his, Russia's thoughts ran through almost the same direction as he hummed softly under the spray of hot water from the showerhead. He was happy to be in England's company and he couldn't remember when he'd been as happy as he was at that moment. He never thought he'd enjoy it as much as he had. Everything was going smoothly between them, much better than what he'd hoped for. But, unlike the island nation, he did not approve of anyone, other than himself, ogling England. He did not like how eyes strayed and lingered on his face, his lips, his rear or any other part of his body.

He knew he had to stake his claim, make it clear that the island nation was untouchable. He should... he should...

It was then that they came to the same, alarming conclusion.

_'I am infatuated with Ivan Braginski. With Russia.'_

_'I am attracted to Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom.'_

Russia blanched, suddenly needing a bottle of his strongest vodka, and England paled dramatically, instantly feeling as if he was going to swoon.

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Author's note: So there we have the third chapter. Wow. Please tell me what you think. I dedicated the chapter to their first not-date since it's vital for them to realize that they are attracted to each other at this point.

Happy reading, I hope you guys like it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note**: Guys, I can't tell you how sorry I am on how late this chapter came out. This is like the HARDEST chapter I had to write and it took more than a little time to try and internalize everything. Characters may be a little OOC but you be the judge. Tell me what you think.

**Disclaimer**: Hetalia does not belong to me. I told Santa I want it but I got a lecture on copyright laws instead.

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Arthur hadn't gotten even a wink of sleep, having spent the night in hysterical denial and staring at the ceiling blankly as if frozen except for the occasional, involuntary blinks. It had been a very trying night. He had told himself repeatedly that this inexplicable infatuation was nothing more than the result of innumerable centuries of loneliness, that Russia had been the subject of his attraction only because _he _was _there_. Had it been any other nation with him last night, he'd probably feel the same way.

But in the wee hours of dawn, lulled by exhaustion and lack of sleep, Arthur had finally accepted that he liked the Russian and had probably known it subconsciously since that night he had come to get his scarf. Spending time with him had only served to bring this attraction to light and Ivan had been proving himself to be more than the monster Arthur had thought he was and other nations had claimed him to be, giving the island nation even more reasons to like him. In the past, Arthur had been wary of him and had no wish to involve himself with the Russian any more than what was necessary for trade and international relations. Now, Arthur wanted to know more about his land, his culture, his history, and his people- the things that had made Russia who and what he was now.

But just to set the record straight, Arthur reminded himself that he liked the Russian only as a friend and not as a romantic interest and he glared at the angels painted on the ceiling as if daring them to say otherwise. He'd just have to keep a little distance to make sure it stayed that way. After all, infatuation was a far cry from love or any other lasting affection and he knew that whatever this was between them would cool down eventually. Everything would go back as close to normal as it was possible and they'd probably be on friendlier terms. Maybe even be close enough to actually consider each other friends.

But somehow, Arthur didn't know why he wasn't happy or satisfied about that when he should be. He wanted something else entirely from Ivan but could not make himself explore those possibilities because he knew, once he started, there would be no turning back. This tentative friendship with the Russian would undoubtedly end. Dear Lord, this was so confusing! He covered his face with his hands and rubbed furiously as if that could erase any lingering notion. He didn't know what he was going to do and just trying to think about it was making his head pound viciously.

He shook his head and turned on his side, turning away from the blasted ceiling and its inhabitants. To the Englishman, it felt like an eternity had passed before his eyes began to feel heavy with the need to sleep and the Englishman's parting thought before he drifted to his dreams was, _'Braginski, this is all your fault.' _

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Ivan took great pride in his self-discipline. He strictly believed that rules were meant to be obeyed and no matter what happened, he would always do what he had already set out for himself. He controlled every facet of his life with an iron fist and dealt with opposition quickly and ruthlessly. Distractions of every kind were taken cared of or ignored. Until now, the only thing he knew that he could not control was his excessive drinking but then, he never really got drunk anymore so that was insignificant.

Already seated on the dining table with thick files and documents stacked about him, he began reading through reports for the meeting, mind struggling to keep its focus. Unlike England, he was able to have his sleep but he looked no better than the island nation finally dozing one floor above him. Just last night he'd dreamt of a rather explicit, er, scene with the island nation that had woken him up drenched in sweat, his temperature unnaturally high and his cock embarrassingly hard. While taking a quick, cold shower to fix his problem, he had recalled the feel of dream England's firm buttocks in his bare hands and that husky voice whispering in his ear before he had knocked his forehead on the wall hard enough to crack the concrete wall. After waking up a few more times due to the same cause, he had idly wondered if he'd been celibate for too long that he was becoming so desperate.

_'To begin the restoration of Ireland's financial stability, it was proposed...'_ He read, realizing that he'd been repeating the same line quite a few times already. He sighed in irritation. He _absolutely _hated _distractions_. If distraction had been a living entity, the Russian would have beaten it with his pipe a long, long time ago and probably erased its existence and influence. He was sure the world would be better without it.

He carelessly tossed the file on the table, fingers massaging his temples. The headache he was starting to get reminded him of his first hangover, when he'd still been unused to his beloved vodka. He admitted to himself that he had to change his plans now or get undesired results.

All his careful planning that would get England to be his friend and _only _his _friend_- nothing beyond that- was utterly ruined by his own desires. He had not expected getting attached so early and so intensely to the island nation and Ivan was not the kind of nation to deny himself what he wanted or what he felt. He wanted Arthur, not just his friendship, but everything that the smaller nation had to give. And so he decided that his previous plan was not going to work for him anymore since his goal had already changed since last night.

Throughout the night as he had laid on his side staring at the first rays of sunlight dancing on the floor, his thoughts revolved around the island nation. His smile, the longing look in his viridian eyes, his laughter as he had told Ivan his adventures with his siblings- everything he had said and done was like pouring a bottle of vodka in a roaring fire. It had excited Russia, making him want to know more, to explore everything that was England.

Under normal circumstances, Russia would be tempted to force England to see their situation from his point of view, like what he had done to the others. Using intimidation and fear was easier than trying to be nice, after all, because it takes little time and effort. But England was more astute and incredibly more stubborn than most nations, he'd never give in to his advances. If he realized what Russia was planning, he'd no doubt that the island nation would run away and if forced, Russia might scare him but he would never yield completely.

Ivan wanted Arthur to stay with him of his own choice. Odd for him to think that way but he had observed that humans stay together longer if it were chosen by their own free will. Nations were just more fickle than humans but they were close to being human, right?

Well, whatever. He stood up from his seat at the dining table and stretched his arms over his head then slipped them in his pants' pockets, the beginnings of his new plan filling his head. He started, feeling something small crumple in one of the pockets. He took it out, bringing it to light and idly wondering how it could have gotten into his pocket. Should he fire his laundry cleaner for this obvious incompetence?

His brows raised as he looked at a small, rolled up piece of paper. He carefully unfolded the paper and his eyes widened as he saw Arthur's name and a set of numbers scrawled shakily on the paper. Was this what he thought it was? He studied the handwriting intently. It was England's handwriting but it was strangely messy, like he'd been having difficulties holding the pen. Could this be really Arthur's phone number? But how could it have gotten into his pocket? The pants he was wearing came directly from his luggage bag and he had worn it after his bath last night. There was no way that anyone could have slipped the paper inside without him knowing.

Ivan was still suspicious but he accepted this unusual opportunity. If this _was _England's phone number, then they'd be able to talk to each other more even when they couldn't see each other. If it wasn't then it was certainly no loss to him. At least he tried.

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It was two hours after noon when Arthur finally woke. He'd already taken a quick shower and was already curled up on the sofa with his paperwork stacked on the coffee table and his cellphone perched right in the middle. The cellphone had been a gift from Alfred who had bought it from Kiku and, though Arthur had never really thought to use a cellphone, it made communicating that much easier but it was rather annoying when he'd found his cellphone today and saw the messages, missed calls and voicemail.

Most of it came from Alfred and Francis while some came from Kiku and Matthew. Somehow, Arthur just knew that Alfred had been using his friend's and brother's cellphones to get in contact with him. He had been tempted to trash every message but decided to brave it just in case there was something important. He should have trashed everything.

In all the countless messages he'd received, the only useful ones were Matthew informing him they'd be coming the day before the meeting and Kiku asking him if he'd like them to bring him a souvenir from Tokyo Disneyland. Arthur had been more than a little disappointed that they would waste time to do something so irresponsible before a world meeting but decided to place the blame on Alfred. That boy always liked playing hooky, dragging other nations with him, and England truly didn't understand how he became how he was today. He'd been such an angel before.

He had placed his phone in vibrating mode then leaned on the arm of the sofa, knees drawn up and a file perched on his stomach, one hand holding a pencil. Green eyes silently read through the file, pausing here and there to mark some of the sentences and write notes and questions along the sides.

After about an hour, just as he'd finished reading Ireland's file, his cellphone began to vibrate across the smooth surface of the table, startling Arthur half out of his wits. Heart pounding, he glared accusingly at the phone and snatched it up, flipping it open. What he saw made his eyes widen and his jaw drop almost to the floor as he read the message from an unknown number. He could almost hear the sweet, cheerful voice of its sender long before he actually read his name.

_"Good afternoon, Arthur. I thought to remind you of our dinner plans for tonight. You haven't forgotten, have you? Shall we meet at seven o'clock in the lobby? Thank you for giving me your number but you have to tell me how you did it, da? Caught me by surprise when I saw it in my pocket. I'll see you later, then._

_Ivan ^J^"_

_'What in the queen's name is Russia talking about?' _England thought, his brow furrowed as he tried to recall ever doing such a thing. He had been sober last night, too, so there was no way he'd forget doing something like that. Then, how did-

_'DEAR HEAVENS!' _Arthur screamed in his head, back jolting upright. He had _forgotten _about their dinner plans! He quickly stole a glance at the small, bronze clock standing innocently among porcelain figurines on top of a cabinet. It was already three o'clock, four hours till seven. He quickly scanned his phone directory and made a call.

"This is Arthur Kirkland," he began as soon as his call was answered. "I will be arriving at approximately eight o'clock this evening. A table for two, please, by the windows would be splendid."

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Arthur liked punctuality and followed schedules strictly so it was little wonder that he was already in the lobby at exactly seven o'clock. What was surprising was Ivan was already there ahead of him, sitting on a stool in the bar a small distance away from the reception desk, a glass of what could only be vodka held casually in his hand.

He was very attractive, there was no doubt and again, Arthur had to remind himself that his opinion was from an aesthetic point of view. It meant nothing more than the appreciation of beauty- or so he told himself. The larger nation was the picture of calm sophistication, lounging at the bar with a careless smile, violet eyes half-lidded as he enjoyed his drink. There was no sign of the cheerful and childlike Russia who would often hide behind a painfully innocent smile and an aura of immense danger. No, this was Russia outside of a meeting. He was unusually relaxed yet, from the way his broad shoulders were set, he was still alert, ready for action.

The island nation's heart began to pound insistently as he approached the larger nation, telling himself to be calm over and over again. He took a deep breath and placed a hand on Russia's shoulder, a shaky smile on his face. Because of his own nervousness, he didn't notice the other nation jolt at the contact.

Ivan's head turned abruptly over his shoulder in surprise at the sudden jolt from a rather tentative touch. Wide, violet eyes warmed considerably as they landed on the smaller blonde's face, returning his smile with one of his own. Ivan was proud of himself that, so far, he was managing to be calm even though England's touch felt like thunder blazing into a wildfire that spread from his shoulder to the tips of his toes. It was not a bad feeling, at all, despite the initial shock. It was nothing like when Natalya would touch him and he'd feel afraid or when America would dare lay a hand on him and he'd have this urge to break his neck for daring. No, Arthur's touch was as pleasant and calming as a summer rainfall and as intense and hot as an an inferno all at the same time.

"Good evening," Ivan greeted with a nod, watching as Arthur took a seat on the stool right beside Ivan's, taking his hand from the Russian's shoulder, much to Ivan's disappointment. He gestured for the bartender and ordered a glass of brandy for Arthur, the Englishman accepting the drink with unforeseen shyness. "Did you get a good night's sleep?"

Arthur chuckled huskily as he twirled his drink before taking a sip, the almost careless gesture and the sound of his low voice unbelievably sultry. "As good as I can ever get," he said cryptically, eyes trained on the golden liquid. He shook his head with a rueful smile at the irony and turned his laughing eyes to Ivan's, finishing his drink in one solid gulp. "Shall we go? I'm afraid if we stay here longer, I'll be tempted to have more of their brandy, most likely get drunk, embarass myself and ruin our evening together."

Ivan laughed heartily at that. "Alright, let's go," he said, finishing his drink with one gulp and standing from his seat. He assisted Arthur from his stool, his larger, gloved hand closing around the Englishman's smaller one and reluctantly let go.

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The view of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower was simply breathtaking. Bright lights as far as the eyes could see twinkled like the multitude of stars in the sky. Below one could see a bird's eye view of the Trocadero Gardens and their spectacular fountains.

Ivan took the time to appreciate Paris' beauty. It had both the sophistication of the modern world and the elegance of the past centuries rolled into one sprawling city. It was full of life and enchantment of the seductive kind, just like France himself. He shouldn't have been surprised. After all, it was his capital, his heart.

Beside him stood Arthur and they shared a comfortable, thoughtful silence, each deep in their own thoughts. To the Russian, it was as if the crowd of tourists surrounding them with their flashing cameras and boisterous chatter melted into nothingness the more time they shared with each other.

"Paris is a beautiful city," he found himself saying spontaneously, whispering the words as if it would disturb the tranquil moment he and Arthur shared. There was no reply and he'd begun to think that maybe the Englishman did not hear him, a little disappointed. He snuck a glance at the faraway look in England's eyes then turned his gaze back to the picturesque view of the city. It felt almost like an eternity had passed before England replied.

"As much as the frog annoys the hell out of me, I have to agree with you," Arthur whispered in an equally low voice. "Paris is certainly one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Of course, London would top my list but I'm afraid I'm biased."

Ivan chuckled, stopping himself from asking if Moscow was on the Englishman's list. It would probably make things awkward between them so he thought to ask it at a later time when they were more comfortable with each other. He had to admit, though, that he felt the same way. Though Paris was certainly amazing, no other city could defeat Moscow on his list and he told England so, sharing quiet laughter at their admission.

After circling the expanse of the highest level of the tower, England led him to the restaurant where they would be dining. Ivan never had the pleasure of eating in the renowned restaurant, _Jules Verne_, but he thought it would be a wonderful experience. It looked as extravagant as France was and was probably just as expensive. It was full of activity but he dreaded the rather long line extending from the entrance. Would they have to wait to get a table? Ivan almost suggested they try a different restaurant instead but was pleasantly surprised when Arthur approached one of the receptionists without preamble and they were led to a table inside, right beside the windows where they could see the fountains.

As soon as they settled on the seats, menus opened in front of them and their server gone to fetch a bottle of wine and vodka, again they lapsed into a somewhat awkard silence. Arthur was busy reading through his menu while Ivan did the same, though half his mind was going through his plan to make England his without scaring him. England was thoroughly distracted with the menu, not noticing the calculating gleam in Ivan's violet eyes as he alternated between two sets that he wanted to try. They were much too busy in their own little worlds to notice a man approaching their table.

"Arthur? Ivan? What are you two doing here?"

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Author's note: Okay, so that was bad of me to leave it at this point especially after two or three weeks of no updates. I can't apologize enough for not updating sooner. About this chapter, I think it's pretty obvious who the mystery man is. Did I mention this chapter was so hard to write? It literally took me hours after stressful shifts to think of what should, could and would happen, and that's like two hours of thinking time cause I have to go to bed early for my next shift!

Anyway, enough with my ranting and raving. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. As always, reviews are very much appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Very sorry I'm late guys. Thank you for being very patient with me!

**Disclaimer**: don't own 'em. (isn't this getting a little tedious?)

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Francis knew that unruly mop of blonde hair anywhere. He tilted his head to the side, gaining a better look at the blonde's face just to make sure it was really him- ah, so it was _him _after all. Despite the great distance between him and his friend's table and the constantly moving servers with trays of food in their hands and people to lead to their own tables, he could still clearly see those _things_. Who else could possibly have those monstrous caterpillars for eyebrows? There was no doubt that he would enjoy the evening now, in the company of his vastly amusing, volatile, once-upon-a-time rival.

With a teasing smirk on his face, designed specifically to infuriate the hot tempered Englishman, he walked toward his table with purposeful strides, gracefully avoiding the maze of people who waited to enjoy his cuisine. Arthur was so busy studying the menu like he hadn't eaten before in Jules Verne to notice him, eyes wide over the text as if it was an Arthurian legend. He'd been a loyal patron of the restaurant whenever he would visit Paris. So loved was he by the restaurant that the management would _always _make sure to make room for him whenever he was in the city. Of course, Arthur would never openly admit to liking anything French just as Francis would never admit to liking, ugh, Shepherd's Pie. How he could possibly be addicted to that strange, disgustingly sinful delicacy, Francis never knew and never bothered to understand.

They were beyond blackmail now anyway. With centuries of knowing each other between them, they knew too much about each other and one might call them bestfriends if it weren't for them seemingly hating each other. Francis was also very confident in knowing exactly which buttons to push to get a reaction from Arthur. Arthur, being a creature of routine nowadays, made it so easy compared to their wilder days some centuries ago. France knew that he'd reduce the smaller man into a fit of outraged spluttering before the first course could be served.

Ah, such a wonderful night this turned out to be despite that rather failed seduction of a beautiful Canadian lady. Matthieu and his people were shy and often invisible, mostly when Alfred and his own were nearby but when one noticed them, they positively glowed. The lady had been so flustered by his attentions and quite flattered but Francis had conveniently forgotten that Canada was still America's sibling and he had been raised by England. As such, it shouldn't have been a surprise when the lady stubbornly (there was no other word for it, really) resisted against his charm in favor of her friends' company- who, ironically happened to be both American and English.

And although it was never really Arthur's fault that he'd been rejected, Francis was still going to pay him back for it. He snickered at that and while running a teasing line that would definitely get a rise out of the island nation through his head, he began to notice that Arthur was not alone as he had thought.

His stride stopped and his good humor vanished altogether then replaced with growing alarm as he realized who Arthur was with. Sitting opposite the smaller blonde with a menu held in his hands, half his face buried in the scarf France knew had been ripped recently and his eyes wandering from the menu to Arthur's determined face was Russia. Before he could stop himself to assess the situation, he began to walk with urgency towards his one-time rival. Later he would deny ever worrying about the often disagreeable island.

"Arthur? Ivan? What are you two doing here?"

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Any fear of being found out in the company of a seemingly unstable and certainly dangerous Russia was squeezed out of Arthur the moment he recognized who had spoken. It was almost an instinct- the way his teeth clenched, his hair stood on end and his hands itched to throw something at the sound of that deep, seductive voice. But he was still the better man as he tried to control himself and opted to ignore that voice whispering in his head about French frogs and how they should be dealt with. Besides, it wouldn't do for him to make a scene in a restaurant of all places. He was never one for public humiliation.

Instead he answered dryly, "playing chess". He rolled his eyes at Francis and added, "what does it look like we're doing?"

Francis looked supicious- suspicious of what Arthur could not fathom until his narrowed, blue eyes slid discreetly over to Ivan who now had a dangerously sweet smile fixed on his face. Arthur's eyes widened in realization, then he became angry again. It was obvious that the frog did not trust Russia to be with him and he did not trust that Arthur could take care of himself in his presence.

"I think I will go and wash my hands before we dine," Ivan suddenly announced in that insanely sweet and childlike voice he would often use in a world meeting, making Francis twitch. He then turned to Arthur, his voice dropping to it's regular pitch and his smile becoming reassuring when they were alone. "I will be back in a few minutes."

Arthur nodded at him, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips. He watched as Ivan stood from his seat and instinctively swallowed when he exchanged glances with France, his violet eyes narrowed and frigid like chips of ice. He watched the man's back fade from view before turning back to Francis who had suddenly become unfrozen from Ivan's glare.

"Arthur, what in heavens are you doing here with Ivan?" He almost shouted, before reminding himself that they were in a public location. "It's because of the scarf, isn't it? Did he threaten you? Is he forcing you to spend time with him?"

"Francis-" the Englishman began stopping immediately as Francis continued his tirade. A vein at his temple began to throb as he disapproved of being interrupted.

"Mon Dieu! It's just as I thought!" He whispered fiercely, the words coming out in an uncharacteristic hiss. "Is that why you refused to stay with me in my house? Arthur, did he do anything untoward to you?"

Arthur twitched at that. Somehow, it felt like he was being treated like a helpless girl, for heaven's sake! He looked around them and saw the other guests watch them in unabashed interest, his face growing hotter as the number of stares kept on mounting. He sighed impatiently and tried to get the obviously distraught nation's attention. "Francis-"

"Where is Amerique when you need him?" he muttered under his breath, becoming a little thoughtful. "They are admittedly evenly matched but I'm sure he can protect you from him. For now, I think we should go before Ivan comes back."

Then he grabbed Arthur's wrist, intent on pulling the island nation to his feet and out of the restaurant but was thwarted as Arthur forcibly pulled his hand back.

"Francis, for the love of God, will you please stop your mumbling and listen to me?" Arthur all but shouted, dignity be damned. At last, those blue eyes fixed on him, confused at his outburst. He tugged Francis by the wrist for him to sit on Ivan's chair and sighed again, bracing himself for the nearly impossible task of making the Frenchman understand. "One, Ivan and I are here to have some dinner, obviously. Two, yes, it had something to do with the scarf but I had already mended it."

Francis was bewildered at first until he realized that the Englishman was answering his previous questions one by one.

"Three, no, he did not threaten me and, four, he most certainly have not forced me. I have agreed to spend time with him while we are here. Ironically, I'm the one giving him a tour of Paris." Suddenly, Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously, making Francis swallow convulsively. "Five, _you _are the reason why I'm not staying with you. You and your wandering hands. Six, he did not do anything untoward to me- not that it's any of your business if he did. I am not a defenseless, innocent virgin as you should know very clearly."

The tension in Francis's broad shoulders lifted as he sagged fully against the chair, taking a deep breath. "I see," was the only thing that he was able to say in his relief, running his hand through his blonde hair.

Arthur nodded and relaxed against his own chair, smirking at the Frenchman. "So you do. There's really nothing for you to worry about, Francis."

"Of course, there is," Francis interrupted fiercely. "This is Ivan we are talking about. Russia, Angleterre! I trust that you know how to take care of yourself. But I don't trust him! You don't know him well beyond old alliances and territorial games and the rumors with the Baltic nations! He is unstable and ruthless! You don't know what goes on in his head and he might be fooling you, for all we know! He might use you against Amerique! Think about it! You didn't even like him before! What made you so agreeable to him now?"

Arthur bristled at that. "Do not be a hypocrite, France. You and I and all nations are capable of instability and ruthlessness. We just hide it behind civility while he uses it as a shield. And you're right. I don't know what goes on in his head but I'm perfectly willing to give him a chance. This has nothing to do with America. It is between Ivan and I."

Francis looked at him intently as if weighing thoughts in his head. It was apparent that there would be no changing to Arthur's mind, judging from the way his eyes gleamed with determination and the way his stubborn jaw was stiff with tension. He sighed.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," he muttered.

Arthur laughed wryly. "I haven't the faintest idea at all."

And it was true because despite the earlier conviction he had about his confidence on Ivan, Francis did have some very convincing arguments. It also brought to light another problem: Alfred. The pretense of good will between the two did nothing to hide their hostility against each other and he was sure that if France was this vocal about Arthur's involvement with Ivan, Alfred would be much, much worse.

He decided to stop worrying and, for the first time in his life, he decided to throw caution to the wind and see where this led him. He'd deal with problems when they arrive.

When Ivan came back, he still had that saccharine smile on his face but somehow, Arthur could note the disapproval in his gaze as his eyes landed on Francis. He cleared his throat, catching the Frenchman's attention and cocked his head to the side.

"Ah, pardon me," Francis stuttered, getting out of the chair and scooting away as the Russian sat on it. It seemed that his fear of Ivan had rushed back since their talk.

Finally, everything was going back to normal, Arthur thought. He met Ivan's assessing gaze, held it a second too long while France was still watching them (he vaguely noted France's jaw drop somewhere) and found those eyes roaming around his face as if the Russian was trying to find out if anything was wrong. Satisfied with what he had seen, Ivan turned back to Francis expectantly.

Thankfully, France was not as oblivious as America, realizing that he was not quite welcome in his own restaurant, which irked him a bit. He decided to back down though as he had no intention of angering the Russian. He excused himself and went on his way.

Ivan was at a loss. He did not know what to say to Arthur and apparently, neither did he. He couldn't say that it was a bad thing though and the silence between them was comfortable and peaceful. France had done well to ease Ivan's mind as to how Arthur felt about him. The fact that Arthur did not easily judge him as he had done before gave him hope. How long had it been since he dared to hope?

He hadn't meant for it to happen but he heard nearly the last part of what Arthur had told Francis when he'd been about to intervene. He hadn't liked seeing Arthur upset but he shouldn't have worried. The island could very well take care of himself. Now, he looked more relaxed and at peace.

It struck him though that, for once, he was not a monster in someone's eyes. Arthur thought he was the same as everyone else. It made his heart feel as if it were about to burst in his happiness. Hope, happiness... such a wonder Arthur was and the many gifts he had given him.

"Ivan?"

He looked up and met warm, green eyes. "Yes?"

"Would you like to see the fountains up close?" Arthur asked as he pointed to the colorful fountains below them. "They're much more spectacular from below and you'll also see the the tower's light show."

"_Da_, I'd like that very much."

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The Trocadero Gardens proved to be a delight as Ivan sat on one of the benches with Arthur beside him, each holding a steaming cup of coffee. It was quiet and they were thankfully alone to enjoy the sight, having found a spot where there were no lovers skulking about in the bushes.

"Arthur?" he called softly, turning to his companion, mesmerized by the sight of the glowing lights reflected on his face, casting different colors that made him look ethereal and magical. His heart was pounding again.

"Hm?"

"Back in the restaurant, I hadn't meant to hear what you said to France. I apologize," he began, watching the play of unreadable emotions in those luminous green eyes and the blush that spread across his cheeks. "Thank you for saying what you did. Nobody had said that of me before. Even if it was a lie, it still made me happy."

Green eyes widened and narrowed, lips forming into a scowl. "I don't lie, Ivan. When I said that, I meant it. You are not different from me or anybody else. You are not a monster." His eyes shifted away and he whispered timidly,"and I am truly looking forward to knowing more about you."

He couldn't help it. He didn't know what possessed him to do what he did but he did it anyway. Coffee spilled on the grass, the cups rolling carelessly beside each other while Ivan held Arthur in his arms, having swept him in a tight embrace. He was laughing quietly as he buried his face in the crook between Arthur's neck and shoulder.

"Ivan? Are you alright?" the island nation asked in concern, noting that Ivan's shoulder's were shaking and, for all his laughter, his shirt was getting suspiciously wet.

When Ivan lifted his head from his shoulder to look at him, he was shocked to see tears welling in those violet eyes. He wanted to say something but was rendered speechless as a pair of gloved hands cupped his cheeks and Ivan's face neared his own, their noses nearly touching. His green eyes were wide, the blush on his cheeks evident even in the rush of colorful light. His heart was hammering in his chest, begging to be let out.

"Thank you, Arthur," he whispered softly, his coffee-scented breath tickling Arthur's nose before he brushed his lips against Arthur's own.

And Arthur felt the world fade as he closed his eyes.

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**Author's note**: *sigh* I am a sucker for fluff. I think we're getting serious in the story now and they finally shared their first kiss... *sigh* Gods, the sweetness is going to kill me.. *dunks head in a bucket of cold water*

Does it seem rushed to you guys? Please tell me honestly.

Reviews are very much appreciated. :) Comments and suggestions would be great, too. Of course, you guys actually reading it is the best reward! :) I'm sorry for making everybody wait for it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: Um, I'm sorry for making everyone wait so long. My brother had dengue fever, I had to look for a new job, the internet connection is kinda having problems and my USB's in the hands of my brother's friend and hasn't returned it yet.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Warnings**: Yaoi, of course. :) Kissing scene at the start of the chapter. A bit OOC, and shameless fluff.

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**Chapter Six**

The kiss was everything Arthur had imagined it to be and more (not that he'd _ever _admit it). Ivan's cool lips tingled with the heat of his own and it was infinitely better than the two kisses he'd received on his cheeks that fateful night. His arms were tight around him, comfortably so and damn, if he'd ever felt safer than he did at this moment. It made his heart pound far too quickly to be healthy and his toes curl in anticipation for something more. But he was to be disappointed. Before he could attempt deepening the kiss himself, Ivan had already began to pull away from the kiss. He opened his eyes and met deep, violet orbs, staring at him with such warmth, it took his breath away.

"I am sorry, Arthur," he whispered huskily, leaning forward until their foreheads touched.

'_Sorry? Sorry for _what_? For kissing me? Does he regret it? Am I _that _undesirable?_'were the thoughts that stormed through his kiss- induced haze, like a bucket of ice water from the English Channel had been thrown to his face. He felt heat flush his cheeks and his spine stiffen in indignation, in anger. '_How dare_-'

"I am sorry for taking such liberties on you," Ivan continued, slowly and soothingly. Arthur could feel his gloved hand rubbing circles on his back, the rigidness in his posture melting away. "I do not want to make you uncomfortable."

Green eyes narrowed dangerously at him and Ivan honestly did not know what he'd said to make the smaller blonde angry again. Arthur pulled back and surprised Ivan by grabbing the lapels of his coat along with handfuls of soft cotton, pulling until their noses touched each other, their eyes locked onto each other.

"Ivan, I am _not _a _bloody _girl." He pressed their lips together and like the pirate he once was, he took advantage of Ivan's surprise and plundered his mouth with his tongue, turning much more gentle and infinitely more teasing with every stroke and caress. He pulled away with naught but a breath between their lips. "If I didn't want you to kiss me, I will make it known, I assure you."

A low growl rumbled at the back of the Russian's throat as he grabbed Arthur by the back of his head, threading gloved fingers through wheat-blonde hair while his free arm tightened around the Englishman's waist, bringing them as close as sitting down on the bench allowed. He pushed his tongue through their lips and tasted apples, Chardonnay and that distinct taste that was sinfully addicting and probably unique to the smaller nation he held in his arms. He didn't think there had ever been a time that his heart beat so fast and so strongly or how his blood pounded in his ears with every press of lips, every nip and graze of teeth.

Arthur gave as good as he got, so passionate and skillful, Ivan had half a mind to be jealous of the Englishman's previous partners. As of now, though, he could only take advantage of it- much to his pleasure.

When at last they parted for breath, breathing heavily and quite winded, their gazes met, their foreheads still touching. Ivan did not bother moving his arms from where they were, only moving his gloved hand from the back of the Englishman's head to cup his cheek, a thumb stroking flushed porcelain. They stayed that way for a moment, no longer seeing the brilliant display right beside them.

"I think it's time for us to go," Arthur whispered softly, his green eyes soft and half-lidded, his smile gentle. "It's getting quite late," he added, though he was loathe to move from Russia's embrace.

"_Da_, I agree," Ivan replied, personally wanting to stay a little while longer. He kept stroking England's flushed cheek, wondering how it would feel to touch his skin if his gloves were off. "We should go."

They stared a moment longer before Ivan stood on somewhat shaky legs, holding a hand out to Arthur who took it gratefully as he, too, stood on knees knocking against each other. He straightened his coat and adjusted his beloved scarf, violet eyes following Arthur's movements as he walked a small distance away.

"We wasted good coffee," the smaller blonde muttered as he picked the cups from the ground and threw it on the rubbish bin. He turned back to the Russian, smiling as he walked up to him and both began their slow, leisurely pace back to the hotel.

"I thought you didn't like coffee," the larger nation wondered aloud. Violet eyes turned to meet Arthur's gaze, the Englishman's eyebrow raised. " I hear you complain to America often enough when he tries to make you drink some."

Arthur snorted inelegantly, running his hands through his mussed hair in an attempt to make it more presentable. "That boy's idea of coffee is from a fastfood restaurant, one smothered in sugar and who knows what else. Francis' coffee is much more tolerable and to my taste."

"Quite understandable," Ivan agreed as they followed the main path out of the gardens, stopping here and there to look at some of the blooms, the flowers closed in on themselves for the evening. The Russian admired the smaller nation's knowledge of plants as he answered each and every one of his questions patiently, his voice soothing and deep in the darkness. When there was nothing else to talk about, they lapsed into a slightly awkward silence.

"Arthur?" Ivan whispered, turning to look at the smaller nation walking beside him. "What are we?"

Green eyes were playful as they gazed back at him. "Nations?"

The Russian blinked, caught by surprise, then he chuckled, the deep sound rumbling in his chest before it became unbridled laughter. Arthur had never seen Ivan genuinely laugh before and he was pleasantly surprised by it, committing to memory the endearing sound that made him warm all over and the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. He found himself thinking that he should make him laugh more often.

"You know what I mean, _Zain'ka_," he urged. His eyes widened comically, realizing what he'd just said, his mouth shutting with an audible click as soon as the secret endearment left his lips.

He looked every bit like a young Alfred caught with his hands on the cookie jar, Arthur mused with some amusement. "What does _zain'ka _mean?" he asked, noting how guilty and uncomfortable the tall Russian looked.

"I'd rather not say," Ivan mumbled softly, heat warming his cheeks.

"Oh, come now, it can't be that bad," said Arthur, now truly curious as he realized how adorable Ivan looked at that moment.

"_Nyet_," the Russian said firmly, trying to look stern but failing miserably at it. Arthur found it rather difficult to be suitably afraid, but he did try to hide his grin, _try _being the operative word.

"You know I can always ask Yekaterina about it," he teased with a slight jab of his elbow to Ivan's side. "Or have Matthew ask her anyway."

"You still haven't answered my question," Ivan retorted smoothly, smiling lightly. "And I doubt Matvey can convince her if I talk to her first."

"I'll answer you if you promise to answer my question as well," Arthur challenged with a grin. "Do we have a deal?"

Ivan thought about it for a while. Arthur's answer was definitely more important than keeping his endearment a secret, but it was embarrassing to have to tell him what it meant. It would be better if England found out its meaning from Katyusha than him, saving him from humiliation, but that would mean he'd have to wait for Arthur to answer his question.

"_Da_. We have a deal," Ivan finally agreed before he could even begin to change his mind.

They found yet another bench along the path and sat on it. Arthur didn't speak for a while, opting to watch the clouds drifting to cover the moon. It was difficult to see the stars in Paris, he mused, wondering if he should retreat to his home in the country sometime. He absently remembered the maze requiring some pruning.

Ivan was waiting patiently for him, following his gaze to the heavens as if the answers were there. He didn't want to talk about this, if possible, but they had to do it. They had already shared a kiss, and not the wholesome kind. He wanted to know where they stood, what line he should not cross lest he became too attached and did something he'd regret.

"I don't really know what we are or where we stand," Arthur began awkwardly. Damn it, this was more difficult than he thought. "But like I said before, I truly want to know more about you, Ivan. I've grown to like you more in the past few days than I did in the last two hundred years- oh, don't you look so surprised! If anything, I should be wondering why you even want to spend time with me at all! I mean, look at me. I'm a bad tempered, washed out has-been and I'm hideous. The whole world probably hates me."

"There is nothing wrong with you," Ivan said vehemently, his eyes blazing with violet fire, cupping Arthur's chin in his hand and tilting his face up to meet those wide, green eyes. Never did he want to hear England say such things about himself and so easily. "You are beautiful. Anyone who says otherwise is a blind fool."

Arthur's heart pounded and his stomach flopped like a fish out of water as he stared into those eyes that showed nothing but sincerity and anger on his behalf. He couldn't remember ever being called beautiful in his whole life. It was overwhelming.

"Even with caterpillars for eyebrows," he teased, his voice faint and shaky.

The Russian smiled reassuringly at him. "_Da_. Personally, I think they add character. They make you more expressive." He let go of Arthur's chin and laid his much larger hand against his cheek, his gaze becoming somber. "I like you, too, Arthur. Even more than I expected. I want to know where this will lead us, if it can be something more..."

Heat suffused Arthur's cheeks as the Russian's words trailed off in an uncertain note, somber, violet eyes looking at him hopefully. Was Ivan really saying what Arthur thought he was saying?

"We don't have to rush things, I think. I'm perfectly happy with how we are right now. We won't do anything you don't wan-" Ivan paused as soon as a pale finger pressed against his lips to silence him.

"We'll take it one day at a time," Arthur whispered, gently holding the gloved hand on his cheek.

That Arthur was willing to give them a chance was enough for now, Ivan thought, turning his eyes back to the heavens in gratitude.

"So, what does _zain'ka _mean?"

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Bright, morning sunlight pierced through the windows of the small dining room of Arthur's suite, mellowed somewhat by the gossamer curtains hanging from the ceiling. He sat at the table with freshly brewed tea that he made himself (nothing like a pot of Earl Grey in the morning) and breakfast for two that he'd ordered from room service, waiting for his visitor (companion? colleague? friend?) to arrive. He and Ivan had decided to work on the meeting's documents together to finish it faster after they had realized that they had not been able to do so with the meeting just two days away.

He was a little nervous after last night's confession. His confidence had waned through the night with the awkward question, "what happens now?" and though Ivan reassured him that they would continue to treat each other the way they've already had in the last couple of days, he still didn't understand what that would entail.

In his past relationships and alliances, everything was clear. Terms of what were and weren't allowed were stated explicitly. There had been no emotional investment to alliances and his relationships had hardly warranted any affection on his part (except for his colonies, of course- they were his children). It had been done to reassure that his empire's authority was unopposed and unquestionable.

This relationship though was not an alliance between Russia and England but was purely between Ivan Braginski and Arthur Kirkland- or at least, he hoped it was. Despite his trust in Ivan, Francis' words still had a ring of truth in them. They were nations and they'd do anything in their power to get what they want. He certainly did during his prime and he expected that many would, too, and there were no exceptions. And that was why there were treaties and alliances- to make sure no one crossed the line.

He still liked Ivan (gods, it was so difficult to say, even to himself, that he wondered how he'd been able to admit that) and he was afraid of what was in store for him. They had ultimately decided to let things run its course and that was enough for now. He wondered though if any intimacy was required between them or if they were allowed to meet with other people or not.

He hated not having anything written on paper. It would surely make things easier for both of them. He was saved from actually thinking of drawing a contract between them when a knock interrupted his thoughts. He stood and went to open the door immediately, Russia standing in front of him in a simple T-shirt and a pair of denim pants with his scarf wrapped around his neck. He carried a brief case with him, several folders and a brown, paper bag from the bakery across the street.

"Good morning, Arthur," Ivan greeted brightly. "I brought breakfast."

Arthur grinned, Ivan's cheerfulness rubbing off on him. "Good morning. I had room service bring breakfast. Shall we?"

He opened the door wide for the larger nation to pass through and closed it. He assumed that their suites must be similar to each other for Ivan to proceed directly to the dining room after leaving the folders and his brief case beside the couch on the living room where Arthur's own documents were stacked according to Germany's list of presentors.

Arthur grinned as he followed Ivan into the dining room to have breakfast. It would be nice to have a meaningful discussion about the documents and he was sure the larger nation would provide valuable feedback. He would also learn more about Ivan and his views and standpoints in certain isues.

Today was sure to be promising.

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**Author's Note:** Sorry for the wait and thank you for being very patient with me. Thanks to all those who dropped me helpful comments and reviews.

I hope this was worth the wait. Tell me what you guys think.

Um, some of you may have questions regarding Arthur's view on relationships in this chapter. When I thought about this chapter, I found that Arthur may not have any experience in a serious relationship. Why? It's mainly about trust. When he was younger, his land was free game so with various peoples trying to invade his country, I'm sure he wouldn't trust any random nation easily. There's also the thing with being an empire. I'm sure he has experience with alliances (cue Hetalia episode where France tries to force him to marry him) where its advantages are valued more than personal feelings, kind of like an arranged marriage. Terms were set, contracts were signed and an alliance is formed. Hardly the stuff of romance (random plot bunny is popping up from this concept). Put that way, I think Arthur would be quite clueless about feelings and romantic love though he's not above imagining what it would be like.

Now, he has a little more freedom outside his duties as a nation and is free to pursue other things.

On Ivan, he's a lot more difficult to write. I think, he had gone OOC in this story. Then again, I am trying to get him beyond the scary, psychopath line and give him some depth. He's awkward in this but the good news is he knows what he wants and is willing to wait.

Things to look forward to in the next chapter: Some characters will be popping in to Arthur's suite.

**Shout outs: **

**MelodyOfStarshine, VampireYumi, DaiKuro-chan, The artist formerly known as, eyelushtraitor, AlisterRainbow, Roksashoe, Plate Captain, Hetalian66, -i-love-you-Se-chan, The Fujoshi, Jet Set Radio Yoyo, Anon, EEevee, Somnium Mos, kz, Swinny Fluviru, kikki546, Live-Like-its-heaven-on-earth, KendraLC, Ally Plz, Salru, FlipFlops, Blind Ribbon, Triangular Prism, Volve, Arthur, IMATOMATO, HOMOFABULOUS, HumanElement, Ivan Braginsky, forgot-my-password, Jime-chan, Sadie Woods, Phamenia, Trimacle, itsravensfault, Rowe, Cactuzz, Michiko-Michan, Soot, Lollidictator, Lollz, The Lord and Master-Foamy, , J. Shizzle, Niki-the-awesome, .uk**

Thank you so much for your support and feedback and I'm sorry that I don't reply to reviews and stuff. I'll try to reply from this chapter onwards so if there's anything that's bothering you about the plot or its pacing or character interaction, please don't hesitate to tell me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: So this came sooner than the previous chapter. Sorry about the lateness. Work just keeps me away from my laptop and weekends are spent sleeping the day away. Anyway, hope you'll like it!

**Warning**: Yaoi and fluff! Sadly no mature stuff yet.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

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**Chapter 7**

The pair of nations had settled themselves comfortably in the living room after breakfast and for the first few hours, they had lapsed into much needed silence as they worked through their papers, still fully aware of each other's presence. They were in the center of each other's sight, though their attention was diverted (rather forcefully, one might add; they were disciplined in that respect) to the stacks of paper around them. The only sound that could be heard from either of them was the scratch of pencil against paper and short, heated discussions about the situation in the Middle East, Ireland's financial crisis and possible solutions to help Japan. At one point, the Russian had nearly given himself to a fit of giggling. He didn't say it out loud but he absolutely adored England's blank stare when he had suggested they be one with him to solve their problems.

During that time, the Englishman had changed his position and was now leaning back on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up against his chest, green eyes reading through a document with his pencil poised to make notes. On a similar chair beside the couch, the Russian was likewise preoccupied on his own paperwork, leaning comfortably against the high back of the chair with one ankle propped on his knee, his own pencil raised.

He took a glance at the Englishman expertly spinning his pencil between his index and middle finger, his green gaze on the papers he held in his other hand. He smiled as he thought just how many times he'd been called a git (and its other variations) when Arthur was feeling particularly passionate about a certain issue. In the past, it had annoyed and angered him when he was on the receiving end of that sharp tongue but he was more thankful for it than he'd ever care to admit. Now that they were a little closer to each other, the insults were still there but Ivan understood that they were merely said out of habit and, if he strained to hear, a little fondness.

He also enjoyed their conversations no matter how heated they got since no one was brave enough to argue with him. He knew he only had himself to blame for that. The Baltics were much too afraid of him to form coherent sentences (again, his fault) and Katyusha, while more comfortable now than she had ever been around him, still weighed her words carefully so as not to offend him. Natalya was certainly out of the question. Among all the other nations aside from his family, only Arthur would be wary of him but would not spare Ivan from meaningful arguments peppered with witty sarcasm and cleverly placed insults (America didn't count because he would argue with Ivan out of principle and more often than not, he wouldn't make much sense).

Maybe someday he'd tell Arthur how grateful he was that he'd met him, he mused, turning his attention back to his files.

Arthur felt the other nation's stare leave him and resisted a sigh. He was suddenly grateful he was used to intense staring (the Fae were quite obnoxious that way though they knew he could see them) because it made him almost immune to its intensity. It was still distracting, though, as he realized that he'd been reading the same line over and over again.

He dared a quick glance but his eyes refused to go back to work. It was certainly another first to see Ivan in a simple t-shirt and a pair of washed-out denim pants- the most casual Arthur had ever seen him and he was no less attractive than before. His scarf was still around his neck (of course), the tiny, knitted sunflowers clearly visible against the light cloth as the end of the scarf lightly brushed the Russian's thigh. He was sitting comfortably on the chair, one gloved hand holding a file while the other tapped the pencil on his thigh in a silent rhythm.

Arthur couldn't help but marvel at the other's powerful build and be slightly envious. Even at his relaxed state, the Russian still radiated power, a great force to be reckoned with. He eyed the bulge of corded muscle on his arms and recalled how safe he felt to be held by them, how gentle they were despite the larger nation's immense strength.

Moving his gaze up, Arthur noted the stubborn line of the Russian's jaw, recalling the ominous ticking somewhere around his left cheek, a sure sign that Ivan was getting annoyed despite his still cheerful demeanor. He didn't know when he'd begun to notice it. It was just a coincidence whenever he had to keep Alfred from insulting someone albeit unintentionally (though personally, between the two, he just knew the insults _were _intended). The Russian's thin lips were curved in his usual smile minus the hostility and malicious intent, his aquiline nose just perfect and not as large as Alfred would often claim it to be.

Long, pale lashes fluttered as he blinked and those breathtaking, violet eyes... were staring right back at him! Arthur nearly jumped, his face going red in embarrassment as the larger nation caught him staring. Mortified, he raised the file and hid his face behind it, completely flustered. Damn, how obvious could he get?

After a moment, he lowered the file enough to peek at Ivan who was still staring at him with a patient smile. If his face felt any hotter, he was sure steam would already be coming out of his ears. There was no helping it now that he was caught.

'_Belt up, Kirkland!_' he told himself firmly. _'Honestly, you're acting worse than a schoolgirl with a crush!'_

He bit his lip uncertainly, then completely lowered the document after taking a deep breath, meeting Ivan's eyes squarely. He leaned forward and, clearing his throat a little, he patted the empty space beside him, averting his eyes to an unremarkable spot of polished mahogany he suddenly found very interesting.

The sound of movement met his ears and then he felt the couch dip at Ivan's weight. He felt an arm circle his waist and shift him ever so gently so that his back would be against the Russian's side, the strong arm pulling him as close as possible. He resisted the smile that threatened to curve his lips, gaining confidence.

"Are you comfortable?" the larger nation whispered softly, his breath ghosting over the island nation's ear.

Arthur squirmed a little and looked over his shoulder at the smiling man. "Very. And you?"

"Very," the larger nation answered huskily, dipping his head low and capturing Arthur's smiling lips with his own.

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It was already dark when they finished their work and the pair decided to go out into the city and have dinner to celebrate. Deciding to avoid the more posh restaurants around the area (they were much too lazy and tired to bother dressing up just to eat), they opted to go through Pont de Artes and choose one of their cozy outdoor restaurants.

Ivan looked down at the island nation whose eyes were currently riveted to the night sky, the wistful smile on those lips bringing out his own. The bright lights of Paris danced in his green eyes and he looked adorable in a loose, faded Guns 'N Roses t-shirt that had probably seen better days and a pair of knee-length shorts, exposing slender calves and small ankles. He bet that those ankles would fit very well in his hands as shapely as they were and made a little note to himself not to tell England that he had a little case of ankle fetish. He was sure the island nation would cover himself right up if he knew.

They found a cozy restaurant around the corner and sat under the night sky, talking about anything and everything only stopping when their waiter arrived with their menus and began taking their orders.

Their food was promptly prepared and set before them but the pair hardly noticed it, taking a few random bites as they became rather engrossed in their discussion on their famous landmarks.

"You have to see it to appreciate it!" said Arthur to a rather skeptical Russian. "Of course, the concept of rocks probably don't appeal to you now but once you see it, I'm sure you'll love it!"

Ivan was still reluctant to accept that Stonehenge was really anything special but had quickly decided to give it a try when Arthur invited him to stay at his house and see it for himself. Then, he'd asked the island nation to join him in his home since it was only fair to do so. The island nation readily agreed.

Arthur cleared his throat after a while, catching the Russian's attention. "So," he began, stirring the ice cubes submerged on his tea with his straw. "You never did fulfill your part of our deal."

"Deal? What deal?" asked the Russian with a tilt of his head, projecting innocence the island nation knew not to trust. "I don't think I know what that is."

"Oh, don't get cute with me. You know very well what it is, I'm sure," said Arthur with a wry grin. "I didn't get the chance to ask last night." He recalled the larger nation's uncharacteristic hasty retreat when he had walked him to his room, excusing himself before the island nation could talk to him. "So, tell me. What does _zain'ka _mean?"

The Russian sighed. Ivan just knew that Arthur was going to ask him that at some point during the day even though he had sincerely wished that the smaller blonde had forgotten all about his slip of tongue. Of course, he knew the odds of that happening was next to nothing but one could hope.

"_Zain'ka _is an endearment in my home," he began, fidgeting with his scarf under the table. Usually pale cheeks brightened with color. "It means..."

"Yes?" Arthur prodded, leaning forward on the table with his head propped on his laced fingers. The island nation noted Ivan's discomfort but his curiosity weighed more and the fact that the usually unflappable nation before him actually _squirmed _piqued his interest.

They broke their gazes on each other as their waiter filled their near empty glasses of water and basket of freshly baked bread, paying them little attention. As soon as he was out of hearing, Russia mumbled something under his breath. England blinked. "I beg your pardon, I didn't quite hear that."

The heated flush on the Russian's face grew hotter. "It means 'bunny'."

England blinked again. "Bunny? You called me bunny?"

Ivan hid half his face in his scarf, wishing that the ground would suddenly open up and swallow him. Of course, that wish, too, was denied. Damn. He carefully watched Arthur as the slighter blonde mulled it over, face carefully expressionless.

"What is it with me that I'm always identified with a rabbit?" he asked Ivan after a while, catching the larger nation offguard with his seriousness. "Honestly, what about me reminds you of a rabbit? I mean, don't get me wrong, I find it very endearing and I like it a lot coming from you," he rambled, not realizing what he'd just said, "much more than that bloody, wanking frog. I swear, when he says it, it feels as if he's insulting me. But, I really don't see any similarities between myself, a former empire, mind you, and a rather timid animal."

"Because you are cute and adorable like a rabbit," was Ivan's ready answer. Wasn't it obvious?

"C-cute?" Arthur spluttered indignantly, cheeks going red. "Adorable? What about me is adorable?"

Ivan blinked. Had it been any other nation, he'd have thought that they were fishing for compliments but he knew Arthur was genuinely disturbed by the idea from the way his brows furrowed and how he looked as if his pride was crushed.

Sure, the United Kingdom was closely related to a lion for its noble ferocity and the unicorn for its strength but Arthur's own personality undoubtedly resembled a rabbit's (a temperamental one, at that). Like a rabbit, it took a while to receive his trust and his fragile heart made it so easy to break. Once that happened, it would be near impossible to earn it again.

'_I will never let that happen_,' he vowed. He smiled at Arthur. "Everything about you is adorable, _zain'ka_."

"S-shut it, you incorrigible git," he exclaimed furiously in embarrassment, deciding to give up before Ivan could say anything else.

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"Why're we ba-_hic_-ck so soon? 'm no' drunk! I can still drin-_hic_-k," slurred the wasted Englishman as he waved an empty bottle in one hand, the other tugging on the hem of Ivan's shirt. "Come on, Ivaaaan... don' ya wanna drink some mo-_hic_-re?"

Ivan stifled his chuckles as the smaller nation tried to tug him back in the elevator's direction, keeping one arm firmly around the other's tiny waist as he tried to find Arthur's keys from one of his pockets. He grinned as Arthur carelessly pushed his hands away just as he had gotten the keys to Arthur's suite, dazed, green eyes glaring at him for all he was worth and looking every bit like an angry rabbit.

"You, sir, are being -_hic_- very difficult," Arthur announced with a half-lidded frown, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you -_hic_- don' wanna come with, you can stay here."

The Russian couldn't stop his giggles now as Arthur looked absolutely adorable with a petulant pout on his face, bracing his feet on the floor as if he would never be moved without his permission. Ivan shook his head and lifted him over his shoulder easily, loving his indignant squeak as he held on to the back of Russia's shirt.

"Put me -_hic_- down! Put me down this instant, I-_hic_-van," he commanded furiously, fists hitting the Russian's back with no real force. "You are -_hic_- impossible! I oughtta bend you over my knee -_hic_- and give you a strapping you'll never forget, insolent -_hic_- whelp!"

If Ivan wasn't so considerate of Arthur's neighbors, he'd have laughed outright at the mental image of himself and Arthur exactly as how the island nation described it. He had no doubt Arthur was pretty serious about the threat, no matter how impossible it was to do but it was just so ridiculous, he couldn't trust himself to talk. Instead, he just patted him awkwardly on his back.

His hands shook as he opened the door, shutting it close with a swift and controlled kick. He strode into the bedroom and pulled the covers on the bed back, depositing his no longer struggling burden into bed and gently prying the empty beer bottle from his grasp. He took the other's shoes off and covered him with the sheets, hearing him murmur unintelligibly under his breath.

He pressed a light kiss over the island nation's forehead and made to leave but the grip on the back of his shirt prevented him from doing so. He looked over his shoulder and found Arthur sitting up in bed, gazing at him with half-lidded green eyes and a dreamy, little smile. Sure that he had the Russian's attention, Arthur let go and scooted to the other side of the bed.

"Stay," he whispered, patting the spot he had just moved from. "Please, stay."

Ivan was only too happy to oblige. He sat at the edge of the bed and removed his shoes before he lied down, finding himself with an armful of Englishman before he could settle himself more comfortably. He felt slender, willowy arms circle his waist and a face burying into the crook of his neck and shoulder and he smiled as he wound his own arms around the smaller body, pulling him close to feel his warmth.

He felt Arthur's breath even out in sleep and allowed himself to drift into his own slumber.

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"Wha... uck is... goi... on here?"

"Al, shu... You're... goi... ake... em...up."

"I ag... ith... Can...an. May... we should... em... be."

"No fu... ay! I... leave... thur... ith that com... tard!"

Arthur stirred, brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of whatever it was he heard. He felt groggy and his head was kind of heavy, the usual symptoms that he was hungover. Gods, he really didn't want to wake up yet so he snuggled closer to his very cozy pillow and sighed, nearly drifting back to sleep when he heard whoever it was (though that voice sounded very familiar) screech somewhere off to the side, followed by more unintelligible mumblings.

"God damn it! Can't a man have some sleep around here?" he yelled as he sat up and glared at the voices' general direction. He regretted it not a moment too soon as the sunlight proved much brighter than he'd anticipated and the weight in his head just hammered him.

He clutched his head, groaning in pain. He opened his eyes, slowly this time and focused his vision to where the voices came from and found Alfred, Matthew and Kiku standing by the walls, fury, apology and uncertainty in their respective faces.

Bollocks.

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**Author's Note**: Again, sorry for the long wait. XD This is where the fun officially starts, I guess.

Sorry for the cliffie, too. It felt appropriate to end it there or maybe that's just me. One of the reviewers asked how Alfred found Arthur's room. That'll be answered in the next chapter.

Reviews are appreciated! Tell me what you think, okay?


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Okay, I am _waaaay _overdue with this chapter. I had a lot of trouble with Alfred and gauging his reaction. On with the chapter!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Arthur was not a happy bunny. He had a headache that was steadily becoming more unbearable, his vision swam before his eyes, his throat was dry and scratchy and the one time he gathered his courage (granted, with the aid of alcohol but still...), his plan backfired tremendously at him. He shifted his gaze from the three nations standing in one corner of his suite's bedroom to the still sleeping Russian beside him.

Ivan was thankfully asleep, though Arthur didn't know how he could possibly sleep through Alfred's racket. He was lying on his side with his head resting on one arm while the other was carelessly thrown over Arthur's thighs. He supposed that the arm would have been around his waist but was moved down when he had sat up. There was a small smile on Ivan's lips, his face relaxed and utterly boyish with his unkempt hair over his forehead and eyes. He looked so adorable that Arthur, with a smile of his own, pushed the errant strands of hair from the Russian's forehead.

He felt more than heard Alfred open his mouth and shot him a venomous glare, the American's mouth shutting with an audible click. There was no way in hell that he would allow Alfred to wake Ivan up and cause a scene. He certainly didn't want World War III to start in his room, especially when he was still suffering from a hangover. Just thinking of the consequences made his head hurt even more, if it were possible.

He raised a finger to his lips and motioned for the three to get out of the bedroom, Alfred opening his mouth again in protest. He watched as Matthew clamped his hand over his twin's mouth, pulling the American out of the bedroom with Kiku's help and waited until they were no longer visible, turning his eyes to the still sleeping Russian. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as Ivan continued to sleep, undisturbed, as if there had been no one inside the room at all in the last few minutes and stared at him a little while longer before he decided to face the other three nations outside his room. He gently lifted the rather heavy arm loosely draped over his thighs and got out of bed slowly, watching the Russian intently who had not so much as twitched the whole time, suspicion growing a bit more.

He glanced at his watch on the bedside table, frowning even more at the early hour. Hangovers often meant staying in bed for the longest time. Alone, one could feel miserable and sorry for themselves and their wasted lives and with someone, one could feel all that misery except someone's there to make it better with a lot of cuddling (he didn't say that he would have liked to cuddle with Ivan- that'd be so _girly_- but it came with having a hangover and _must _be followed). Waking at six o'clock in the morning with a building headache (and no cuddling) was going to test his patience and with Alfred, one had to be patient because he could be infuriatingly stubborn and obtuse. Turning back to Ivan, he pulled the sheets up and draped them over the larger nation's shoulder and silently went out of the room, shutting the bedroom door with a barely audible click.

He saw the three in the sitting area, Alfred facing the windows, fists clenched at his sides, his broad shoulders tense, Matthew sitting on the couch with Kiku, the former wringing his hands together while vivid, purple eyes stared at his twin with concern while the latter seemed only mildly disturbed. Knowing Kiku though, he was probably panicking on the inside.

Arthur took a deep breath. This was going to be a little difficult, he knew. Matthew and Kiku he could handle just fine. The Canadian would be easier to talk with since his friendship with Ivan and their shared love of hockey would aid him in understanding their situation. Kiku would listen and try to understand but would not offend simply because he was Arthur's friend, despite their history, and would probably offer advice.

But Alfred... heavens, he didn't know what could be going around in his head. The boy could be unpredictable whenever his mood changed.

"Come into the dining room," he said, three pairs of eyes locking instantly on him. "I'll prepare some tea while you tell me what you are doing here this early in the morning."

He said it with a glare and his former ward's cornflower blue eyes hardened. Arthur inwardly huffed at the attitude. Well, there was really no reason for Alfred to be angry with him, he reasoned to himself. He had not done anything wrong and the American had no right to judge whoever he associated with. It had nothing to do with him.

It was all that little brat's fault for barging into someone else's room... wait a goddamned minute! How in hell did those three know where he'd been staying?

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Tea was set on the dining room table, four steaming hot cups, expertly prepared but with three ignored as four nations sat in silence around the table. Matthew had his head bowed and was presumably still wringing his hands together out of sight from under the table, Kiku was pointedly looking at nothing in particular, probably wondering what he'd done to deserve being in such a stifling atmosphere and Alfred remained motionless and unreadable, arms crossed over his chest and leaning casually on the back of the chair, his eyes stuck on Arthur who sipped his tea as if he wasn't being obnoxiously scrutinized.

Alfred cracked. "What the hell is that commie doing here, Iggy? Did he do something to you? Did he threaten you or hurt you?"

"Keep your voice down, Alfred." Arthur placed his tea cup down and cleared his throat, having an odd sense of deja vu. He wanted this to be over and done with before Ivan could wake up. "What is between Ivan and I is none of your concern. End of discussion." His glare hardened as the American opened his mouth in protest. "I mean it, Alfred. We'll discuss this some other time, privately. What I want to know is what you were thinking coming here this early."

Matthew looked uncertainly at his brother who still stared at Arthur and decided he should answer since Kiku was still staring at something on the table. He really wished Kumakichi was here to give him a little confidence. The polar bear had to stay back home to have his appointment with the vet. "Um, w-we were supposed to surprise you and probably take you out for breakfast," he started with a chuckle. "Guess we were the ones surprised instead."

The poor Canadian then winced and paled at what he'd just said, violet eyes turning to the American whose eyebrow had just twitched.

Arthur leaned back and raised a thick eyebrow. "I see. Something is bothering me, though. How did you know which hotel I am staying at and which room? I haven't disclosed that information, not even to Francis."

This time, it was Kiku who flinched and Arthur's eyes narrowed at the quick glance the Japanese threw at Alfred. His eyes widened at a sudden realization.

"You bloody bastard," he muttered as his mind raced at the possibilities. "What gave you the fucking right to do that?" He didn't wait for a reply and turned to Kiku. "It was the cellphone, wasn't it? And you knew about it?"

The last was said more as a statement than a question. Kiku sat motionless, eyes wide and full of guilt. He'd learned about the transmitter only when they were on the way here. Well, Alfred _had_ jokingly commented about putting one in it when Kiku had personally delivered the item. Somehow they had ended up talking about England being too much of a recluse and about him disappearing for days at a time without contacting anyone (Alfred was talking and Kiku was listening).

Kiku hadn't thought that Alfred was actually _serious_. If he'd known, he'd have tried to dissuade the American from it. He knew how England valued privacy as much as he did.

Arthur stared at him and seemed to make up his mind about something that the poor Japanese couldn't fathom. "You didn't know, did you? You would've stopped him if you could."

The Japanese slowly let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Arthur was becoming very angry and the angrier he got, the more quiet he became. His eyes were cold, livid and somewhat glowing eerily as they turned to Matthew.

Matthew gulped, feeling like he was a child again and it was his first time living with England and he'd been so afraid, wanting his Papa to take him away. If he had been a turtle, he was sure he'd have hidden his head in his shell by now.

A thick eyebrow raised. "And Matthew wouldn't have the courage to stop you even if he wanted to."

The Canadian looked guiltily at his hands. Arthur was one of the few nations who actually believed that he would be of equal strength to Alfred, if he would give it a try. He just didn't want to.

"And, correct me if I am wrong, I'm assuming you hacked into the system to find out which room I'm in. Alfred, what were you honestly thinking, invading my privacy like this?" Arthur asked, sighing. He understood that Alfred meant well. He usually did when he pulled stupid stunts like this.

"It was just what Matthew said. I wanted to surprise you and then get some breakfast, that's it." Alfred said, throwing his hands up. "It wasn't my fault this hotel has lousy locks. I didn't think I'd see you and... and _that fatass commie_!"

Arthur's legendary temper flared. "Don't you dare talk about him that way!" He exclaimed furiously, standing up from his chair. "He had shown me nothing but the utmost respect and courtesy in the last few days than you did in the last few decades! You have absolutely no right to judge him!"

There was silence and tension, even Alfred was rendered speechless from his outburst which was a feat in itself.

_'Ivan would definitely be awake now' _was Arthur's thought as he willed his temper to cool down, counting to ten in English, French, German and even in Italian in his head. He needed to calm down or he was going to murder Alfred in this room, alliances be damned.

Invading his privacy was one thing but insulting someone Arthur had learned to care for was another thing entirely. And he truly did care for Ivan, he realized, the knowledge of it bringing him a sense of pride.

"I don't want to talk about this right now. If we do and you say something I don't like, I might do something I'll regret," Arthur said. " Please leave, all of you. I'll see you tomorrow at the meeting."

With that, he dismissed them with a nod, heading back to his bedroom and shutting the door behind him, knowing that Matthew and Kiku would be able to persuade Alfred and leave him and Ivan be, at least for the day. Tomorrow would be another debacle and with a lot more witnesses. Oh, joy.

He heard the sound of shuffling feet and listened carefully as the door to his suite was shut loud enough for him to hear but soft enough not to disturb a sleeping Ivan. He walked toward the bed, suddenly feeling very tired, his headache, momentarily forgotten, returning with a vengeance.

He sat at the edge, watching Ivan's still face, that little smile on his lips. Then he saw an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of those pale rose lips. Green eyes widened impossibly as one purple eye opened half-way and met his stare, conscious and fully aware.

"You! You charlatan," Arthur muttered. "You were awake this whole time."

"_Da_, I was," the Russian replied with a grin, pulling the island nation back into bed, facing him with the smaller nation's head tucked under his chin. He laid his arm around the tiny waist and began to rub Arthur's back to relax him.

"I knew it was impossible to sleep throughout the noise," sighed Arthur. "Did you hear what we were talking about?"

"I heard everything," Ivan responded, his voice a low whisper. "I was about to step in when I heard you getting more upset but I thought against it. It wouldn't do for Amerika and I to destroy such a lovely building as this one." He closed his eyes and a genuine smile curved his lips, unseen by Arthur who was being lulled back into sleep. "Thank you for defending me, _Zain'ka_."

There was no reply. Ivan leaned back and looked down at the smaller nation who had fallen asleep in his arms. He rubbed his cheek against the silken mop of hair at his temple then pressed his lips softly on his forehead before he, too, went back to sleep.

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The tinkling laughter and girly gushing of the tiny fairies that had somehow sneaked into the Englishman's luggage was stifled and low even though they knew that the bigger nation wouldn't be able to hear them. Arthur pobably wouldn't because he was smashed but it was better to be safe than be caught and promptly sent home.

Everything was going according to plan so far, even with Alfred's shenanigans. It thankfully worked in their favor even though they tried very hard and failed to thwart the little upstart from using his technology. Still, they had a long way to go to make the plan successful.

It wasn't that they didn't like Alfred. They loved Alfred as if he were a part of their families even if he had already forgotten about them. But he could not give the happiness that Arthur needed and he was bound to make things more difficult for the two.

Still, the first parts of the plan went on without problems which were enough reason to celebrate. _Operation: No Flights to Paris_ and_ Operation: Ye Olde Pixie Magick _were executed flawlessly (though the names should be changed, the tiny beings thought- Flying Mint Bunny had the worst taste in names), thanks to the special participation of some of the magical communities that were innate to and forgotten by most nations.

Arthur's meeting was tomorrow, the perfect time to execute the next phase of their plan: _Operation: Cliche_. They seriously needed to have someone else name their missions.

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**Author's Note**: I know, it's late and it's not what most were probably expecting but the confrontation between Arthur and Alfred would be done privately and something will happen, can't tell what.

So far, the sensual aspect of this fic has been almost nonexistent (only kisses and no naughty touches and stuff). The next chapter will involve the world meeting, cameos from other nations, confrontations and a little sexual awareness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Hey, everybody! Okay, so you may have noticed that I have changed the rating of the story. This is just to be safe and please note that if I am going to put in naughty scenes in here, I will mark it with something like this:

**meru meru meru Adults Only meru meru meru**

That way, younger readers would know what parts not to read. It's totally up to you if you want to read it or not. Anyway, I kicked the naughty stuff up a notch- just a bit, because I'm making Ivan and Arthur more sexually aware of each other. I don't want them to suddenly have bouts of lust and then hump each other like bunnies, which I'd like to happen but then it'd be totally unrealistic. Sadly, Arthur and Alfred's little heart to heart will come later. This chapter will contain the first few minutes of the conference. I wrote and edited this chapter in the office so expect mistakes. And please point it out. The whole waist/waste thing of mine last time was sooo embarrassing.

So, with nothing else, on with the chapter!

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**Chapter 9**

It was mid afternoon when Arthur finally woke up, well-rested and alone, opening his green eyes to stare at the ceiling. He turned his head to the side where Ivan had slept and tried to move to bury his face on the pillow the Russian had claimed for the night but found it difficult as he was literally wrapped in a cocoon of sheets. It was cozy and definitely warm but the wrapping did not give any room for movement. He wondered if Flying Mint Bunny's claim that he was a restless sleeper were true. Embarrassed, he surely hoped he hadn't accidentally kicked Ivan or something while he was asleep. He tried to wriggle his way out of the sheets, stopping occasionally to steady his breathing. He was grateful that the curtains to his room were drawn and the lights were off. He still had a headache and the urge to throw up whatever he'd eaten last night was still strong though it wasn't as terrible as before. Before long, he managed to free himself and gingerly sat up, one hand massaging his temple as he kicked the sheets to the foot of the bed.

He wondered where Ivan had gone and looked around his bedroom for any sign at all the Russian may have left before leaving and found a glass of… something he found rather questionable and a little note right beside it. He took the note and read Ivan's surprisingly neat handwriting (a hell of a lot easier to understand than Alfred's messy scrawl or Francis' too elaborate and often unintelligible cursive) telling him that he went back to his room to freshen up and would be back in an hour or so. The glass of something was apparently an old Russian remedy for hangovers (Arthur didn't know where Ivan got the ingredients for it and neither did he know what the ingredients actually _were_) and if coupled with the rest of the afternoon in town (the Russian nation's suggestion), his mood would surely improve.

He placed the note back on the bedside table carefully and took the glass, eyeing it apprehensively. He sniffed the liquid carefully, wrinkling his nose. It wasn't foul-smelling but it didn't smell very pleasant either. It was probably bitter like most kinds of medicine and the island nation was not looking forward to ingesting it, though he'd had a lot of similar potions and philters in his very long life. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and downed the liquid as fast as possible without choking. Surprisingly, the taste wasn't so bad. It was a little bland and had a bitter aftertaste. Maybe he'd ask for the recipe and add a little sugar. Surely, it wouldn't be too detrimental to its overall effect. It worked faster than he thought it would and the nausea did subside gradually. He should definitely ask Ivan for the recipe, he thought.

Standing on wobbly legs, he decided to clean up as well and then take a bath, make himself suitably presentable. After taking a nice, hot bath, he dressed himself in a comfortable shirt and a pair of denim pants. He didn't bother putting on shoes or slippers, loving the cool tile on his bare feet as he made his way out the bedroom.

His mood plummeted when he saw the mobile Alfred had given him lying innocently on the coffee table. He was getting irritated again. Taking a deep breath, he sat on the couch and stared at it a bit more. Throwing the thing was not acceptable, he thought. After all, it was perfectly functional and Alfred did give it to him and that made it special, regardless of the fact that it was used to spy on him albeit with good intentions. Plus, it would hurt Kiku's feelings that he'd done such a thing with something that he'd been working on so hard.

The best thing to do was to remove the bug without damaging the phone and that would be easy. Arthur might have been old but that didn't mean he didn't know how to do these kinds of things. He'd been doing it for a long time. He just didn't put too much importance in things like this than most of the younger nations. He went back to his room and retrieved a special bag of tools that should have been confiscated at the airport but was missed because of a very simple yet highly effective illusion charm.

He went back to the living room and sat on the couch, taking the tools out and laying them systematically on the table and began his work. That was how Ivan found him when he came back from his own suite, hunched over the coffee table with a mobile phone taken apart. So concentrated was he that he hadn't noticed the Russian enter, his green eyes intent on the various miniscule parts, brows furrowed and lips in a slight pout that was simply adorable. Ivan decided to watch the island nation tinkering on the phone, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

He watched those nimble, slender fingers handle potentially illegal tools with as much ease as if he were knitting and take out part after part after part. He wondered if the Englishman would be able to put the mobile back together with the rather fast pace he had set to take it apart. Maybe he could even ask to help and watch him even more closely, thinking how utterly cute he'd be while he proudly declined the Russian's offer.

He'd begun to imagine the scenario. No doubt he'd look affronted and he'd be scolding Russia that he didn't need any help, thank you very much, and- Ivan paused and stared. A pink tongue slipped past those pouting lips, wetting them slowly before white teeth worried on a moistened lower lip. Green eyes darkened and narrowed further in concentration, brows drawing down.

Ivan blinked, transfixed.

A careful, almost gentle tug and a small part came off, held on tweezers. He blinked again, recognizing the little chip as one of America's toys, a tiny bug that he'd seen on his person some time ago that he couldn't care to remember. So that was how America had tracked Arthur to this hotel despite no one knowing where he'd gone.

Whatever he might have thought of next quickly disappeared at the look of absolute ecstasy and elation on Arthur's face. The smug look of triumph as he looked down at the little chip with a slight smirk and a raised brow made the larger nation think of something totally inappropriate.

'Could this be how he looked like when having sex?' his traitorous mind cheerfully asked, sounding oddly like France, which scared the hell out of him (and it took a lot more than frilly nations to scare him- little sisters were exceptions- so this was a very big deal). He'd never heard of any gossip or rumor about other nations' sexual escapades (not that he was interested, mind you; he'd heard only snippets from Katyusha when she visited) least of all England's, who preferred his isolation. Still, it came to mind that this nation was a conqueror like him. He had been a warrior- dominant, fearless, proud. He'd fight his opponent (and probably his lover, too) every step of the way unless they reached an equal compromise.

'He'd be like that in bed, I'm sure. He'd be all smug like that while he drove you crazy and you'll love it, too, because he'd be so sexy like that- a little conqueror,' the little France-voice inside his head chirped, making his skin flush then pale dramatically. It was time to get his head out of the gutter and return to wholesome thoughts.

Sunflowers! Think of sunflowers!

"Ivan! When did you get here?"

He turned guiltily to England who looked pleasantly surprised by his presence, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. He smiled back crookedly.

"Did you have anything planned today or do you want to just walk around a bit?" Arthur asked, cocking his head to the side.

He cleared his throat. "Walking is fine. Getting some fresh air would do you a lot of good, _Zain'ka_. Perhaps we can spend the afternoon at the Trocadero Gardens again and see the flowers in full bloom."

The island nation nodded. "That sounds marvelous. I wish you'd stop calling me, _Zain'ka_, though."

Ivan couldn't resist a laugh. "I'm glad you like it. And I will not stop calling you _zain'ka_. I know you love it."

"Git."

The Russian chuckled again, earning a mock glare and roll of the eyes. "Just wait for me a bit. I'll have to put this thing back together."

"Do you need any help?" Ivan asked just because he couldn't help himself.

"Of course not," Arthur stated intensely. "I can do this on my own, thank you very much."

And Ivan laughed uncontrollably, wondering when he'd ever laughed so much in his long life.

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Arthur loved flowers. He loved taking care of them and it was an absolute delight to be around so many kinds. He and Ivan had gone to the gardens a couple of nights ago but the flowers had already been asleep to the world by then. But now they were awake and so full of life as they reached up to gather sunlight. He had to say, though not out loud, that Francis was doing a very good job with taking care of his flowers, or at least, his gardener was.

Looking around the gardens, he remembered that he hated Francis and amended himself. Yes, definitely his gardener was the one to thank for the lovely flowers.

Ivan smiled at the look of pure bliss on Arthur's face as they walked around the gardens. He knew it would be good to get him out of the suite and enjoy some sunshine and fresh air. His mood had improved a lot and he was enjoying himself. He didn't mind being momentarily forgotten as the Englishman went about, kneeling in front of bushes and shrubs, cupping flowers and buds in his gentle fingers as he whispered to them comfortingly. It only meant that he could watch him as he did so and he enjoyed it.

Arthur was hard and prickly on the outside. He was frank, temperamental, no-nonsense, proud and domineering. On the other hand, he was soft and fragile, deep inside. He was gentle, considerate, caring, and thoughtful. He'd once heard America brag that Arthur had always loved him best, even with the revolution and all (he didn't know if that was true or not) and most of the colonies did like Arthur though they admit that he was a very strict parent (India was vehement about this but then she'd always been a rebel and he'd heard that the two of them were at odds with each other most of the time). He idly wondered what it would have been like to have him as a parental figure rather than the Mongols. Could he have turned out differently?

He mentally shook his head. The past was the past and it would be very awkward to open a relationship with him then since Arthur would be at the very least, like a brother, and that would be incestuous (something that Natalya routinely forgot and/or disregarded). It didn't matter that they were not biologically related- it was the principle of the matter (another thing that Natalya seemed to forget and/or disregard entirely).

"Ivan, you hungry? Let's go eat," Arthur called after he'd "talked" encouragingly with a tiny, red rosebud, pulling him from his thoughts. "I just noticed that I haven't eaten anything since this morning."

"Ah, so did I," he answered in surprise. He hadn't noticed that he hadn't eaten anything at all today, either. "Shall we go now?"

Arthur nodded, his eyes roaming the flowers he'd been admiring. "Yes. I already said goodbye to them."

Dinner was quiet and pleasantly relaxed, and before long they were back at the hotel, riding the elevator back to their suites. It was a little awkward for Arthur since he wanted Ivan to stay with him in his suite but didn't know how to ask since he wasn't drunk to just ask him outright. He couldn't get himself drunk even if he wanted to either, because the conference was tomorrow and he'd rather go through it without a hangover to make things worse.

He sighed.

"What's wrong?" asked Ivan who had moved closer so that Arthur could lean back against his chest. And he did lean back because it was very comfortable and Ivan was cool and comforting like the ocean's waters.

"Nothing. Just thinking," he murmured, fitting himself more to Ivan's larger frame as strong arms came around his waist. He wasn't particularly alarmed with this much intimacy and contact. In fact, he was surprised that he actually liked it but it was a good kind of surprised.

"About?" the Russian prodded.

Arthur thought about just saying that he wanted Ivan to spend the night with him when the elevator suddenly lurched up and then shook down before stopping almost immediately, throwing them this way and that until Ivan moved them to the wall and braced himself, holding Arthur closely to his chest. The elevator's main lights shut off and the little emergency lights blinked on.

What the hell?

Still holding Arthur, Ivan moved them forward, pushing the emergency button on the panel. There was static but other than that they heard nothing else. Then the small speaker on the panel blared to life, speaking in French first then in English.

"The elevator is currently experiencing technical difficulties. Technicians are already at work to resolve this issue. Stay calm and help will be on the way."

"I will get us out," Ivan announced, eyeing the panel frostily, tightening his arms around Arthur. He moved to let go but Arthur closed his hands firmly around Ivan's gloved ones, holding him still.

"No. Everyone will wonder how you managed to do it," the island nation warned. He blew up and his fringe fluttered. "As much as it annoys me, we'll have to stay here and wait for help."

"Does it annoy you to be with me?" Ivan asked earnestly, startling Arthur.

"What? Where did that come from?" he demanded turning to the larger nation while still in his arms and glaring up at said larger nation.

"You just said so."

"You know that is not what I meant," he began seriously then noticed those purple eyes were wide and innocent and— he was just being played, the bastard! And he told Ivan so.

Ivan chuckled. "Sorry, I could not help myself."

Arthur whacked him playfully on his arm, trying to glare though his lips trembled to resist a smile. "Idiot."

"You are the only nation, besides America, who insults me every few minutes or so, but you are the only one I tolerate," he informed the smaller nation, pulling him tight until their chests touched and he could imagine feeling Arthur's heartbeat beneath their clothes. The tempo would be soothing and warm and he would have loved to listen to it every waking moment and before going to sleep.

Someday, he was sure. Someday soon, he hoped.

"Should I be flattered?" Arthur teased with his brow raised. "I insult everyone," he began, mimicking Ivan's serious tone, "but you are the only one I would dare do this to."

Ivan's brow fluttered. "Do what?"

"This," Arthur murmured softly before he wound his arms around Ivan's neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Screw being drunk! Kisses were best enjoyed when sober regardless of how embarrassing it was to initiate. The look of surprise then pleasure on Ivan's face made it entirely worth it.

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Unseen at the very top of the elevator shaft, Flying Mint Bunny gave two thumbs up to a very proud Ballard, who was a little, round thing like his name implied. The gremlin had come specifically for this mission and thanks to him, he gloated to himself, their England and this nation that smelled like ice and felt like fire were making wonderful progress.

He stood up and gave a bow to the pair of pretty faeries who'd sneaked into Arthur's luggage and hoped that his deeds would be put into song as it is one of every magical community's highest honors.

_Operation: Cliché _was a success!

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Arthur sat up, feeling rested and refreshed, stretching his arms up above his head and hearing a satisfying pop of joints. He was not wrapped in sheets now, thank goodness, and he should probably be getting ready to go to the conference which would be at eleven o'clock, three and a half hours from now. He was even feeling a tiny bit rebellious and considered coming in late if it weren't for Germany's bitching or Francis and Alfred's whining.

Never mind. He'd rather come in early in his pajamas than go through that torture.

He looked around and Ivan was not in the room, wondering if he woke up precisely because of that. Although he did see Ivan's usual clothing straightened out on his side of the bed, complete with the thick, trench coat.

Yawning, he stood up and went out of the bedroom, needing to use the bathroom. Muddled with sleep, he didn't notice the shower was on and he turned the knob, pushing the door open and catching an eyeful of a very naked Ivan behind the _very_ transparent glass doors (no steam, because Ivan bathed in cold water to wake himself up) of the shower stall, his mind freezing then eventually crashing until all he could register was:

_Ivan. Shower. Naked. Ivan. Naked. Ivan. Naked. Shower. In my Shower. NAKED!_

His mind might have crashed but his eyes were definitely enjoying the sight as it watched water drip down that perfectly sculpted body. Ivan had his face up towards the shower head, his pale, gold hair, almost silver now, sticking to his forehead and neck. He was totally relaxed despite the rush of cold water, eyes closed while taking breaths through his partly open mouth while he stood under the spray. The outline of his chest and back entranced Arthur (Arthur is seeing Ivan in side-view) as did his shoulders and arms that were corded with thick muscle and that flat stomach that Alfred would have killed for (he still had his baby fat, after all), lined with scars from strife and conflict. Arthur didn't mind those, he carried just as many scars as he did and it defined them and their struggles.

It seemed that his mind was rebooting, thank the heavens!

Then he looked down. Then his mind crashed again though it didn't stop his eyes from roaming and it didn't stop his brain from receiving unwelcome messages that his eyes were trying to impart either.

Ivan had a great butt, at least from what Arthur could see of it. And he wanted to touch it or at least, his brain wanted him to. Then again, he wasn't separate from his brain. So that meant he wanted to touch it.

Damn. This was what happened when one put oneself in isolation. He wasn't as immune to this as he was centuries ago and now his brain had short-circuited and was giving him inappropriate instructions that he wasn't ready for.

And then his eyes turned to the other side of that great butt and he saw- Merlin, Ivan was big. Really big. If they were to do _it_, would that be-er-did that mean that- but then- but how would it fit? Arthur didn't like admitting it but he was not as big (not in that sense, perverts) as he would have liked to be. How could his body possibly take that? He'd never had sex with anyone as, er, _well-endowed_ as Ivan.

The thought then destroyed the dam of inappropriate thoughts in Arthur's mind and gave him images that made his face burn. He did the only thing his mind could think of.

He ran.

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Ivan opened his eyes fully. From his distance, Arthur did not notice that Ivan's eyes were not shut at all but was rather carefully gauging his reaction. He smirked.

Seeing that flush to Arthur's face was something that he'd like to see every time since it was so adorable. He wondered how a nation could be so hopelessly innocent and decided that Arthur was definitely one of a kind.

At least now he knew that Arthur did find him attractive in a sexual way. Kisses were good (more than good, really; Arthur was a great kisser) and all but he'd like to know Arthur a little more intimately. Of course, he wouldn't do anything to ruin what they had and he wanted to know if what they did have could go further.

Teasing, though, was a wholly different matter.

With these thoughts in mind, he continued his shower, thanking whatever made him decide on having a cold one.

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They shared a ride as they headed to France's own house where the conference would be held. It was quiet since Arthur refused to talk, merely looking at Ivan from the corner of his eyes and promptly bursting into a full flush as soon as their gazes met. Ivan knew that Arthur didn't know that he knew about the shower incident and felt a little bad that the island nation was feeling rather guilty, probably thinking himself a pervert for not leaving until he'd seen Ivan completely.

He'd have to tell Arthur the truth then and he knew the smaller blonde would probably attempt to punch him and hurt himself. He sighed, thinking that he was strange because he was actually looking forward to it, especially the way Arthur would puff his cheeks up in anger and scold him cutely. Then again, his _zain'ka_ might think it too mean as a joke and would probably hate him for it.

Still, he couldn't have Arthur feeling this way. He hated it. And the awkward, tense silence between them was unnatural and he hated that, too.

When they were in front of France's house, Arthur opened the door, fully intending to bolt and Ivan caught him just in time.

"Arthur, _Zain'ka_, I have something to tell you," he said softly.

"Not right now, we're running late," Arthur answered, still not meeting his eyes, pulling himself free (Ivan let him go; seriously, if Ivan didn't want him to go, he wouldn't be able to) and rushing up the steps and through the open doors.

Ivan followed, sighing. "This is really important."

"I doubt that it's more important about our meeting today," Arthur muttered, his voice barely audible.

Ivan caught up with him and walked beside him. "This is about the shower incident this morning."

"W-what?" Arthur stuttered, startling himself to a stop, before he began his brisk walk again.

"You need not feel guilty because I planned it. I wanted to know if you were attracted to me…sexually. I am sorry. I wouldn't have done it if I knew it would put so much strain on you, please believe me."

Arthur couldn't believe it. Then again, Ivan liked teasing him, for some reason. "You did it on purpose?" he yelled, not mindful that they were very near the conference room and that other nations present would hear their argument from the other side. That and Arthur already had his hand on one of the doors and was pushing it open when he said (more like yelled) his next statement.

"You got naked in the shower and unlocked the door, on purpose, just to know if I was sexually attracted to you?"

Ivan's answer didn't help much in their situation. "_Da_. I think it'd be too awkward to ask you in person, don't you think? You'd most likely stutter and blush then scold me for asking such a thing. And I'll never get an answer from you."

The island nation opened his mouth to retort but Ivan raised an elegant eyebrow and smirked because they both knew he was right. So he pouted and stuck his tongue out at him childishly.

"Do not stick your tongue out if you are not planning to use it, _Zain'ka_," Ivan whispered huskily making Arthur blush to the roots of his hair.

They heard a girl scream and when the two turned; it was to find everyone looking at them. Arthur froze and Ivan blinked.

Japan was holding a camera while Hungary blushed and gushed at the cuteness and the romance, especially since it was two males and never mind that she hadn't really thought of "RussUK" before but it was so cute, she was going to officially support it.

Alfred had a little puddle of soda on his table (ew) from where he had accidentally spat it out when he heard Arthur say "naked", "shower" and "sexually attracted". Germany was shaking his head up at the heavens while Northern Italy just patted him on the back. China wasn't really bothered until Korea suggested that they should do that, too.

Everyone else looked on with shock, completely stunned.

"Uh," was the only thing Arthur could say.

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**Author's Note:** Wow, long chapter. Please consider this an apology for the short chapter eight. As usual, reviews are appreciated. See you guys later!

Read and review, your comments are very important.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Guys, thank you very, very much for being patient with me through and through. This chapter will include my promised confrontation between Arthur and Alfred and I'm not sure about how you would receive it. Well, it's the first half anyway. Than again, you can tell me all about it by pressing the review button. :D Anyway, I hope you like it.

Belated Happy Birthday to Scarves and Roses! My story just turned one this past October 7th.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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England had his face buried in his folded arms, radiating utter humiliated horror and do-not-talk-to-me-if-you-want-to-live aura simultaneously. He was so bloody stupid, yelling about t-that kind of thing and not noticing- GAH! He wished he could die or at least, for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Damn immortality! It's overrated anyway!

"So England, when did all of this start?" He heard Hungary ask casually, and he could almost imagine her with a little notepad and pen already poised in the air. Japan was probably with her already but laying low in the background, camera in standby mode. He already knew about him and Ivan of course, courtesy of yesterday but he always seemed to gain more confidence asking such embarrassing things when he was in Hungary's company.

Hungary was such a terrible influence.

Of course, before Hungary had set her claws on him and monopolized him, all the other nations, obnoxious as they were, were already after his story and offered their own version of congratulations that sounded ridiculously like euologies, much to his annoyance.

It went something like this:

From Poland: "Wow, like, I totally didn't see this happening at all. Well, better you than Liet, I think. Good luck with that."

From Estonia and Latvia: "I'm glad Russia-san found someone he could be with. Just hang in there, England-san!"

From Northern Italy: "Ve~ Arthur-san's very, very brave, right, Ludwig? I'll be sure to ask the Pope to pray for you!"

From Southern Italy: "You sure have the lousiest luck to end up with a bastard like that. But then again, you were a bastard, too. Always thought you'd be with the American dumbass, though. That's karma."

From Spain: "Lovi, don't be rude! _Inglaterra_, would you donate your navy to me if things don't go very well? It would be fitting payment for my Armada."

From Prussia: "_Kesesese_, shit, England. I didn't think you'd be masochistic enough to stay with him. Guess I was wrong. To each his own kink."

Then, he'd exploded: "Shut the bloody fuck up, you bloody gits! I don't need anyone to wish me luck, to pray for me and it sure as hell isn't karma! If that was the case then you'd be the bane of Spain's existence, Southern Italy. I've always heard him complain about you. No, you can't have my navy- as if anyone in there right mind would do something like that when you can't even handle your own back then! And you! What are you even doing here, Prussia? You aren't even a nation! To the rest of you, mind your own business!"

"I think it would be in everyone's best interest if England is not upset any further than he already is. We don't want any unfortunate accidents, _da_?" was Ivan's proverbial two cents, said with a bright, innocent smile and a childish voice, the thick aura of danger almost tangible.

The eulogies had died into unintelligible murmuring immediately after. Arthur thought he was weird to find Ivan's threat coupled with that smile hot but he did.

Damn. Before long, Ivan's creepy laugh would probably grow on him or something.

"I knew you had something going on with the spy games you used to play together. I just thought they were rumors or something, you know? Did your relationship begin then?"

_'No, it did not!'_ he wanted to shout at her. It had been fun admittedly, the rush at catching and being caught was something that was missing in his life for a long time before the wars took a toll on him and he'd wanted nothing more than to settle down.

"What? What spy games? Why haven't I heard about any of this before?" Alfred spat. Arthur hoped for his former colony's sake that the drop of something that landed on his nape was not the soda from his mouth. Or else there would be hell to pay.

"Of course, you wouldn't know about it, wanker," he mumbled loudly enough, moving slightly in his current position just so he could see Alfred's face. "It was during your civil war."

"Oh." Arthur could've sworn Alfred's eyes darkened slightly at his admission but he decided to ignore it for now. Whatever it was bothering him, Arthur was sure to know one way or another.

"Yes, 'oh'. Now, can we please move on with the meeting? It should have begun thirty minutes ago," Arthur said miserably. He did not whine. No self-respecting gentleman would whine.

Matthew sighed. "We can't start yet. Francis' late."

"That bloody, flower-sucking frog would choose today of all days to be late! I ought to wring his thick neck and do everyone a favor," England muttered as he finally lifted his head and met Ivan's gaze across from him, gloved hand lifted and waving lazily.

Cue the blush and then Hungary's gushing and Japan's clicks. Ivan did that on purpose, the tricky bastard. How could he possibly be cool and composed even after being exposed in such a fashion? And why the hell did he have to sit directly opposite Arthur's seat where he could easily see him? Not that it was his fault. Arthur was sure the bloody frog had something to do with this.

The conference room surprisingly fitted over one hundred ninety countries and settled them in one U-shaped conference table made specifically for just this one occasion. The open side made way for the podium and the ceiling to floor white screen and a projector hung from the ceiling on standby mode connected to a small computer.

Alongside the functionality of the room, it must also be said that the interior was also quite breathtaking with well made replicas of famous art pieces and sculptures from all over the world that offered a rest for the eyes.

France had obviously prepared for the occasion. The only problem was…

"Why the hell is France late to his own conference?" he muttered, lowering his eyes to the set of documents in front of him, ignoring and stubbornly refusing to meet the violet gaze aimed at him.

The only consolation to this whole thing was that France hadn't been there to witness anything and embarrass him further. That, and Belarus was nowhere to be seen since, now that he recalled, Ivan didn't inform her about the world conference. It was in bad form, now that he thought about it, but he had a very good reason to be happy. He didn't want to deal with horror alongside the drama in his life.

After a few more distinct clicks on the camera, Hungary announced that she and Japan had enough pictures for reference with their new project and it was "time to hit the history books!" Arthur had no idea what they were talking about but he was just glad that they were already off with the brunette chatting while the reserved Japanese nodded in agreement.

It was a surprise that Switzerland had not interjected yet but he doubted that the Swiss would interrupt anything he deemed trivial or unimportant.

"_Pardonez-moi, __tout le monde_! (1)" France yelled enthusiastically from the open double doors. "Ah, it is fabulous to be fashionably late, _oui_?"

The other nations barely spared him a glance and went back to whatever they were doing.

"_Wieso kommst du so spät?_ (2)" Germany spat indignantly, slamming his palm on the table top with a fierce scowl on his face. "We've been waiting for nearly an hour! Get inside so we can start!"

France pouted at the German. "Germany is such a killjoy!"

The tall blonde ignored him in favor of addressing the loitering crowd of nations chatting with each other and generally making fools of themselves. "Everyone, go to your assigned seats!"

Startled, the nations rushed to their seats marked by tiny flags and in less than ten minutes, all were ready for the coming onslaught of presentations.

As usual in any meeting they'd ever had, Arthur was flanked with Alfred on his right and Matthew on his left with Francis on the Canadian's other side. The others… well, Arthur never really paid attention to where they were placed. Although there were some rearranging thing going on with Hungary taking up Kiku's left while Northern Italy took his right and Austria sat beside Hungary to stay away from Prussia who was sitting by Spain and… never mind.

The most important seat to Arthur was the one occupied by a certain Russian who was right in front of him. Granted, there were about four feet of empty space between them but there might as well have been none with the way the island nation felt that intense gaze on him, making him self-conscious.

And judging from that smirk and yes, he was sure it was a smirk, Ivan was aware of what he was doing. But how to tell him to quit, Arthur didn't know yet.

The meeting progressed fairly quickly and with minimal interruptions or arguments in Arthur's opinion and it looked like they were going to be finished for the first half in time for lunch. And when Germany announced that they take an hour, everyone was surprised and ecstatic, nearly jumping from their seats and chatting amiably out of the room. He shook his head, amused, and began stacking his papers and setting them aside in favor of the next batch of presenters. Somewhere above and behind him, Alfred and Matthew were arguing where to eat while France offered his own advice.

Alfred wanted cheeseburgers, as usual, and Matthew wanted anything except cheeseburgers. France suggested they should go to one of his favorite restaurants in the area but he was ignored yet again. Arthur figured he didn't know anything about the incident this morning, else he'd be bugging the Englishman about it, which was a surprise because all nations loved to gossip.

It wasn't long before the island nation noticed that it had gone incredibly quiet. He looked up from his notes and found the remaining nations in the room looking in his direction and he turned around to find Alfred and Francis staring at something with hardened eyes and Matthew nervously switching his gaze between them and that something.

"Arthur, would you like to have lunch outside?"

Huh, so that something was actually some_one_. How could he possibly have missed that? He turned to Ivan who was looking coolly at Alfred and Francis.

"Arthur is going with us for lunch, Russia," said Francis. "You have been monopolizing his time for the past three days, have you not?"

"And you have been with him for centuries," Ivan countered, sweet smile still in place, the voice equally so. "I'm sure he can spare a couple of days with me, _da_?"

And then there was that thick tension again and Arthur was sick of it and them referring to him as if he weren't there. Honestly!

Francis was about to say something when Alfred interrupted. His blue eyes were hard as he stared at Ivan. "I want to talk with Arthur alone."

Violet eyes, smoldering and intense, studied Alfred carefully before he nodded. Arthur looked from one to the other, confused. What the hell was that about? And why did Alfred call him "Arthur"?

He was about to ask when Matthew, his dear, sweet Matthew, stepped forward, standing tall and proud as he looked at Ivan. "I'd also like to have a word with you, Ivan, now that you're here."

"Of course," was the easy reply and Matthew moved forward to lead the way.

Ivan turned to him reassuringly and reached out, his larger gloved hand taking his and giving it a light squeeze that he answered back. Then he let go, following Matthew out the room.

"Come on, Iggy, follow me," Alfred called, taking his other hand carefully and pulling him off his chair. He turned to Francis. "We'll meet you once we're done."

"_Non_, it is alright. I have to catch up with Gilbert and Antonio anyway," the Frenchman dismissed airily.

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Alfred led Arthur up a flight of stairs and out a small door. The sunlight was bright and the Englishman found himself in a secluded part of the building's rooftop with a small balcony overlooking the garden. He looked around, blinking.

"I had this place scoped up when I got the invite," Alfred said suddenly as if hearing his unsaid question. "Knew all the entrances and exits in case of emergency. I doubt even France knows this part of the building so we can talk a bit without eavesdroppers or getting interrupted."

The Englishman looked at him in surprise and remained silent. The silence was thick with tension and Arthur, for the life of him, did not know what Alfred wanted to talk to him about or what he should say to broach the subject. Well, he did have some idea but then, he knew that it was only the tip of whatever was bothering Alfred. When did talking between the two of them ever became this difficult?

And Alfred… he was so somber and there was a pain in his eyes that Arthur could not comprehend but felt all the same. It made him feel so guilty for some odd reason.

He was saved from pondering such a depressing thought when Alfred spoke. "You know, since I gained my independence, I've always wondered what the two of us would be like in the future. I always thought that I'd definitely surpass you, make me somehow worthy. I didn't know why I tried so hard, why I wanted to try so hard, just that it was all for you.

"Everything I've ever done was for you, to reach you as soon as I can. So I wouldn't have to be just another former colony. So you'd acknowledge me as my own person or nation, however you want to see it." He chuckled but it was dry, humorless, _pained_. "I guess I waited too long. I always thought, 'no, this wasn't enough, not yet', and I never thought that someone would take you from me."

Arthur's heart pounded painfully in his chest, eyes wide as he tried to make some sense of what Alfred was telling him. Was it what he thought it was?

"Alfred…"

"No, hear me out, okay? Please," the American whispered brokenly and that voice, so agonized brought tears in Arthur's eyes. "I always thought, as lame as this sounds, that it's gonna be you and me against the world. It's kinda like the fairy tale that I wanted for myself, you know? The United States of America and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, always together despite all the mess, all the wars, everything. The so-called Special Relationship." He paused and those blue eyes softened behind those frames, glittering with tears. "And now he's here and I don't have the right to stop him because I'm a coward and I let this happen."

Alfred turned away from him, facing the balcony. "But I have to say this to you and you're probably going to hate me." He faced Arthur and there was a soft, resigned smile on his face that broke Arthur's heart all the more. "I love you, Arthur. I always have."

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**Author's note:** Darn. Had to imagine that I was Alfred talking to Arthur in that heartbroken fashion and actually made myself cry. Dunnow how you guys are going to react to this but your comments are always welcome. Thanks again for being patient.

Tell me what you feel about this chapter, if it seems rushed, if it's lacking something or if it's not what you were expecting. That way, I know where to improve and stuff.

**Translation Notes: **

Pardonez-moi, tout le monde- loosely: "pardon me, all the world" or "pardon me, everyone"

Wieso kommst du so spät? – why are you so late?


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Okay, first of all, Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone. Thanks to all those who read my story and gave me **175 Reviews**, **165 Favs **and **185 Alerts** and last but definitely not the least to **779 Hits (or ****23,518**** Hits according to the legacy version)**. It gives me inspiration to write for all of you lovely people.

Thanks for being patient with me through and through. I know I have a lot of stories to finish, but it seems that I have to do one story at a time or I lose my momentum so here is Chapter 11.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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_Alfred turned away from him, facing the balcony. "But I have to say this to you and you're probably going to hate me." He faced Arthur and there was a soft, resigned smile on his face that broke Arthur's heart all the more. "I love you, Arthur. I always have."_

"Alfred… I…," Arthur started but no words would come out. He looked away from the American's beseeching blue eyes, taking a deep breath and worrying his bottom lip. He just didn't know what to say and it hurt him even more not knowing how to possibly ease Alfred's pain, that no matter how tactfully or gently he told his former charge his feelings, it would not make it any less.

But he could not bear lying to him or sparing his feelings and giving him false hope, especially about this. He took another deep breath and thought how best to put his words. He met Alfred's gaze earnestly with his own, saying the words softly but firmly. "I'll never be able to hate you, you silly lad… I love you, Alfred, just not in the way you want me to."

He approached slowly and laid a warm, comforting hand on Alfred's cheek, smiling softly, gently. There was no pity in his verdant eyes only acceptance and understanding and Alfred thanked him for that, albeit in his mind. He could deal with anger and fury but not pity. Definitely not pity.

"I know," Alfred murmured, leaning into the warm, gentle hand on his cheek. "Just had to tell you, you know. Probably get you to change your mind or something." He chuckled but, to Arthur, it sounded like he was going to cry. "Like one of those chick flicks where you suddenly realize that you love me back and you'll jump into my arms and we'll live happily ever after."

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Arthur said, rubbing his thumb across smooth skin that hadn't truly changed since he was a young boy.

The American shook his head, attempting a smile. It was shaky and small but it was a start and brought an answering smile from Arthur. "I'm okay. It hurts like hell but I'm gonna be okay as long as I can stay near you, that I can still be your friend."

"You'll always be my friend, you know that. Even if you are sometimes an idiot and you are rarely punctual," he joked, earning a happy, teary laugh from his former charge.

"Yeah, and you're a stubborn, old man with an Obsessive- Compulsive Disorder," Alfred shot back, laughing when the Englishman promptly slugged him in the arm. "You started it, Iggy!"

"And so we are back to insults," Arthur snorted, playfully crossing his hands over his chest and mock- glaring at the cheeky boy. "You and Ivan are not as different as you both think. You two have these irritating habits of teasing me to the roots of my hair and treating me as if I'm a girl."

Arthur immediately regretted saying the words when Alfred became solemn yet again despite his efforts at making him laugh.

"Do you love him, Iggy?" he asked, his intense blue eyes boring into Arthur's startled green ones.

Arthur blinked. Did he actually love Ivan? He didn't know, at least, not now. They had agreed to take things slowly and they hadn't talked about defining or labeling whatever it was they had. But he had to admit that he loved the way Ivan made him feel safe in his arms, the way he laughed and smiled genuinely when it was only the two of them, the look in his face when he had yet to tell Arthur what _Zain'ka_ meant and the warmth in his violet eyes every time he purred it at Arthur at every opportunity and made him blush to the roots of his hair. He loved the normalcy and peace of reading piles of documents with each other in the silence, sitting close together and drawing comfort from each other. He loved it when Ivan kissed him, too, because he didn't take more than what Arthur was willing to give and he was a fantastic kisser. Hell, he even grudgingly admitted to himself that he liked Ivan's body. More than like, really, but no one needed to know that besides Arthur himself.

But did it actually mean that he _loved_ Ivan or quite possibly be _in love_ with him? He didn't know. He wasn't certain at all. But he was sure it was somehow going there because the Russian had already made a place in his heart because odd as it was, Ivan made him feel happy and cared for.

It was getting confusing again. But he'd figure it out when the time comes— he and Ivan would figure it out together.

"I don't know," he said, turning his eyes to the sky. "But I'm not opposed to the idea. We've decided to see where we go and take it from there."

He could feel Alfred's gaze on him and heard his sigh. "Alright, I think I kinda get it. I'll take your word for it. But if he hurts you or makes you cry, I'd nuke him so bad, he won't know his head from his ass."

"You are an incorrigible idiot."

"Yeah, but you love me. No taking back what you just said."

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Ivan followed Canada absently, half curious about what the usually timid nation wanted to speak to him about and half wary about what America was doing with Arthur. He had some idea about Canada calling him out but America was somewhat different. The look in the North American nation's eyes was hard and determined and in the depths of those blue eyes, he could see deep-seated pain. He knew that America had always loved England and not in an innocent way. It was obvious to everyone but the island nation.

Of course, back then, he didn't really care for America; much less England so whatever they did hadn't bothered him at all. Now, it was different. Try as he might to calm himself, he couldn't help worrying. He knew, of course, that his worrying was also his own fault as he had consented to the American taking England away. Still, it did not erase the fact that the American might be discouraging their budding relationship (or was it just friendship? _Nyet_, but to say it was not friendship would be untrue. They were learning to be friends and a lot more, he supposed) from being what it should be and stealing England away in all his flashy glory.

He looked at his gloved hand and could almost feel England's warmth clinging to him, comforting him. He hoped that whatever he and England shared was stronger than America's influence and that he wouldn't be set aside because like everyone knew how America had been in love with England, they also knew that Arthur could not resist him. And if the American told Arthur to stay away from him, he might actually do it.

But Arthur wouldn't do that, would he? Arthur was fiercely loyal especially to one he considered important. And Ivan was important, wasn't he? They might not have shared a very good history with each other but the present counted for something, right? And he didn't break Arthur's heart like what America once did so he had a better chance, hadn't he?

Ivan resisted the urge to bang his head on the wall, lest he be thought even more insane than usual, and just mentally shook his head. He took a deep calming breath, all the while following Canada who seemed to be fading every once in a while (how did he do that?).

His gaze passed along the carpeted floors then along the paintings hanging off the walls to the other loitering nations who jumped whenever his gaze met theirs. He bit his lip discreetly to cover an amused giggle. He knew it wasn't the time to scare other nations silly into headless chickens but sometimes, he couldn't help himself. It had always helped him take his mind out of troubling thoughts.

Canada led him to a stop in front of a closed door. Turning to him, there was no uncertainty in his blue violet eyes as he met Ivan's curious gaze. "This room should be private enough."

Ah, but there'd be no doubt that other nations would be gossiping seeing them headed here, presumably alone and if Hungary found out, it would be a lot more trouble than it was worth.

"Don't worry, this room is soundproofed," Canada added encouragingly. "I checked Alfred's blueprints of the place. We just want to talk to you about something important."

"We?" Ivan inquired, brow raised.

"Yes, 'we'," Canada agreed. He opened the door and gestured for Ivan to enter first.

The first thing he noticed was that it was a smaller version of the conference room but while nations would be sitting primly and bored on the chairs, the nations who were inside the room were scattered about, chatting with each other, sitting on the table, on the floor and anywhere else that was comfortable aside from the chairs. Some were even lying down, sharing snacks with each other.

"Hey, Ivan's here, everybody," Canada announced and all eyes turned to him.

"Oi, look who's finally here! Crikey, mate, you certainly took your time, didn't you?" asked the loud brunette with the dark green eyes and the unmistakable thick eyebrows. He was sitting on the table, munching on a bag of chips. He wore clothes reminiscent of zookeepers he'd seen on television and there was an evil-eyed koala clinging to his arm and looking at Ivan.

"Australia, please calm down. We should just get on with it before lunch ends or Germany would get all wobbly (1)," said a smaller nation with soft, almost fluffy blonde hair that had unruly tufts curled on the side of his head like a ram's horns. He was wearing a plain suit and looked so young with big, friendly lime green eyes and the same thick eyebrows.

Ivan looked around. He knew some of these nations but not personally (like India over there in the corner being her imperious self) and some he recognized faintly like smiling Seychelles who he'd often see speaking to both Arthur and France. Others he didn't know at all.

"Well, get on with it so we can play some football (2) outside. It's a sunny day, after all," said the Australian, rubbing at his nose.

"You guys were the one who wanted to talk to him, so talk to him," said Canada with a roll of his eyes.

Ivan noticed that Canada was a lot more confident in the company of these nations than he did the G8. He didn't stutter, mumble or whisper. He was in control. It would've been wonderful if he was like this all the time. Now he understood why Arthur seemed to be proud of him, never mind that even _he_ would sometimes forget his own former charge.

Eyes turned to Canada expectantly and Canada groaned, slapping his forehead with his hand. "Oh, for the love of—! Alright, I'll do it but you guys definitely owe me for this!" He turned to Ivan and looked at him apologetically and cleared his throat. "Ivan, in behalf of the Commonwealth of Nations, we want to know what your intentions are with Arthur."

Ivan blinked. Well, he was kind of expecting this kind of talk but he didn't think he'd have to do it in front of the whole Commonwealth of Nations. Well, better than having to speak to them one by one, he supposed. Although, considering the fear in their eyes while they looked at him, trying to be brave (like the way Arthur did when he'd ripped his scarf), he doubted they would try talking to him alone.

Now, how to best handle this situation? What did he know about the Commonwealth?

More popularly known as the Commonwealth Family, the group included Arthur (and the whole United Kingdom, really, which meant his brothers— wait, how could he have forgotten that England had brothers?) and all his former colonies except for two (Mozambique and Rwanda, if he remembered correctly) who had no constitutional link to him whatsoever.

He'd heard talk of their activities once from an exuberant Katyusha some time ago (and her sincere wish that they could have something even remotely similar): they share their culture, knowledge and expertise in different fields with each other, every four years they play games and sports and they even give respect to those who'd fought for them in the last two wars.

So in human terms, they acted like a family and right now, he is with Arthur's fifty-three "children", all of which seem very protective of their "father". They looked unstoppably vocal and opinionated and he'd no doubt that if he didn't make a good impression on them, they would voice their protests on Arthur the next time they saw him. Then Arthur would be all kinds of stressed because, while other nations' opinions of him didn't matter (and could go rot in hell, he'd say), his family's surely did.

He counted the heads with his gaze but noted fifty-four nations when it should have been fifty-three, England (officially, the United Kingdom) being the fifty-fourth. He counted yet again and in the sea of dark skin and black hair and a little sprinkle of light complexion, he found the quiet, (seemingly) young man with black hair and very light brown eyes beneath slightly thick eyebrows, wearing a red _duanga_.

Huh. Even Hong Kong was here. But even without Hong Kong, he had at least a quarter of the world's nations in front of him, a testament to the United Kingdom's greatness back in the day.

"Make it good and make it quick, mate," Australia urged, checking his wristwatch. "We have thirty minutes before lunch ends!"

India rolled her expressive brown eyes. "Thirty minutes is a long time, Australia."

"Yeah, but not long enough for a good game of football or rugby," Australia retorted before his eyes widened in realization. "Hey, maybe we can get Japan to play!" He turned to New Zealand and flashed him a wide, toothy grin. "And you, Kiwi (3), will be our referee since you already won the world cup twice!"

"What? I'm going to play and _you_ referee the match," New Zealand snapped at him, all fluffiness and cuteness gone with the fierce scowl on his face. "You won the world cup twice, too, drongo (4)!"

"Wow, it's scary how New Zealand has England's temper," Ivan heard one of the nations mutter from his right.

"Meh, what else is new," drawled another. "It's just good that Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland aren't here, you know, or it'd be much worse."

"Alright, that's enough," said Canada, pounding his palm on the table hard enough that the sound bounced off the walls and made everyone except Ivan flinch. "We're here to talk to Ivan, not argue about the next Rugby World Cup (5) which is _four years away_ in _2015_. Now either you talk to Ivan or we can send him out so he can have lunch in peace."

Everyone's eyes turned to Ivan and, just because he couldn't stop himself (it was already second nature now), he smiled, tilting his head to the side with all the cuteness in the world overshadowed by his dangerous aura. They all paled and moved just a little farther from him. Even Canada, who had been doing so well, squeaked and took a couple of determined steps away.

It was probably not a good idea to scare Arthur's former charges and it would probably work against him but this was how he normally acted in any situation and in anyone's presence (well, except Arthur's obviously). Ivan rationalized that they should think there was some good in him for Arthur to actually like him enough to spend time with him despite his, ah, scary countenance.

But what, for the love of vodka, should he _say_?

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**Author's Note:** Okay, so usually, I don't really care much for OC's. In fact, I don't read about them but considering the situation, I can't have only Canada, Australia and New Zealand talking when there are fifty-four nations in the room (well, I think I did that for the most part, except for India's sassiness, but still, most nations, who will remain unnamed and undistinguished from the crowd unless said differently in canon, have to deliver lines, albeit anonymously, to make it a little more realistic). In point of fact, OC's will be appearing near the coming of the conflict of the story (bet you didn't think there would be some drama huh?), particularly OC's for England's brothers because I'm not sure if they're already in canon and I see a lot of fan-made ones (correct me if I'm wrong).

I like the idea of an awkward Ivan trying to impress someone (in this case, a lot of someone's) and having no idea how to do it without becoming forceful or frightening (which he can't help sometimes). Even more impressive is that he's doing it for Arthur's sake despite it being against his nature because really, when did he ever conform to other nations' expectations of him?

Canada, well, you guys tell me what you think. Mind you, he'll only be like that when he's with the Commonwealth because he's probable more comfortable with them and his visibility would be a lot more apparent because America isn't a member which makes it hard for everyone to mistake him for his boisterous twin. (Think: what the heck is America doing in a Commonwealth meeting?)

Don't forget to **Read and Review**!

**SLANG and Other Words:**

Wobbly- to have a tantrum (NZ slang)

Football- not American football but soccer

Kiwi- nickname for New Zealanders

Drongo- idiot, stupid (NZ slang)

Rugby World Cup- not to be confused with Rugby League World Cup


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** The new keyboard I'm not punching the heck out of, encouraged me to release the next chapter. That and I did promise someone that I'll release a chapter at least once a month to make it regular. On this note, I've updated three other stories… Ah, the miracle of the new keyboard made me so happy.

As for India, I've been corrected that there is already a male canon character for him, but I'm going to stick with the female one already in the story. I have no excuses, just that I'm being very lazy right now. That, and India is not exactly one of the main characters in the story.

Hey, did anyone know there is an artist named Arthur Brahinskiy? Brahinskiy's so close to Braginski, my mind did a double take and I had to see his art. He's really good, too. I can almost pretend that Arthur just got married or something and in canon, he could draw pretty well, so there.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine!

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Ivan remained silent, even thoughtful, his head tilted and brows furrowed while the other nations watched with wary expectation. He had no trouble with speeches before and he'd already thought about what he'd say should he be confronted like this. Still, whatever he'd concocted in his head disappeared and as hard it was for him to believe, he found himself slightly nervous.

He opened his mouth to speak and the childish lilt to his voice disappeared completely, surprising the nations present. "All I can say is that I wish no harm on Arthur. He is special, as some of you would agree with me. There are only a very few people I could say I hold genuine affection for and he is one of them. I believe he feels the same way about me. We are friends, maybe a little more than that right now, but we want to take this as slow as possible."

"Are they kidding? The UST in the conference room and the naked-in-the-shower incident… don't those count beyond little-more-than-friends?" someone in the crowd whispered but immediately stopped after being shushed by the majority of the nations in the room. All listeners were caught unexpectedly by the utter sincerity in his voice and the way his eyes darkened with thought.

Ivan continued as if he hadn't heard them, though, meeting their gazes as his eyes roamed the room. "We want to see where this goes and what we will be. Personally, I don't care about your opinions of me. I know well enough what they are. But Arthur would care seeing as you're his family and I'd rather he not be hurt in anyway. I ask that you give me at least the benefit of the doubt that I will not harm Arthur, at least not intentionally."

There was nearly an eternity of thoughtful silence, though in actuality, it had been only two minutes and Ivan met their gazes squarely. No one flinched or turned away from him, which was a first and he silently commended that they were taking him very seriously. He turned to Matthew whose head was tilted, a small proud smile on his lips as he nodded approvingly at Ivan.

"Well, you obviously care about Arthur," Australia mused aloud. Ivan moved his gaze to the Australian who stared at him intently. "You're really serious about him and you really don't want to hurt him if you can help it."

New Zealand beamed at him. "I think I can say for everyone that you're an okay guy after all— as long as you don't hurt him, of course. Don't tell him, but he's really important to all of us, Russia. He is like our mother. He may have tolerated America's mischief way better than he did us but he still took care of us even after we became independent. We still call him 'mum' to tease him." There was a small round of chuckles and whispers around the room at that as everyone agreed that they still called Arthur 'mum' when an opportunity presented itself— it was practically tradition now.

"And," Matthew began this time, effectively silencing the others before the noise could get out of hand. Purple clashed with purple as they stared at each other, Matthew's eyes hard and firm as he stared at Ivan unblinkingly. "I think I can say this for all of us, too, that should you treat him badly, you'll make an enemy of the Commonwealth. Not a threat," he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "just a warning."

"I understand," Ivan replied with a stiff nod. He didn't need them to warn him, he'd sooner hurt himself than lose Arthur's affection for him.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward, but almost comfortable in the wake of their understanding before Australia broke it with his outburst.

"Oi, twenty minutes, blokes— and sheila's", he added as an afterthought with grins at Seychelles, who giggled, and India, who merely rolled her eyes at him. "We can still play a game!"

Excited murmurs spread around and Ivan watched as they grouped amongst themselves, talking about strategies and positions as they marched on their way out of the room. There was laughter and their noise was getting louder and louder.

"Just make sure not to break any windows," Matthew reminded the boisterous group.

"We won't, Mattie," Australia shouted at him as he sped past the blonde, dragging a cutely protesting New Zealand with him in a headlock.

Ivan and Matthew stayed in the room a couple of minutes more, with the Russian contemplating leaving to search for the Englishman or to stay until the Canadian left him. He was saved from making a decision when Matthew turned to him with a friendly smile.

"Come on, let's go find Arthur," he said with a jerk of his head at the door. With a small smile of his own that was neither malicious nor threatening, he surprised a wider grin from the Canadian and followed him out.

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Ivan and Matthew met with Alfred and Arthur coincidentally just as the former rounded a corner and the latter came down from a staircase, meeting each other. Noting the absence of surprise on the North American siblings that Ivan felt and saw in Arthur's face, he guessed correctly that their meeting here was also planned from the start.

He met America's glacial blue stare then turned to Arthur's inquisitive glance mouthing a 'later' at him then turned back to the American. America stepped forward and before Arthur could stop him, he said, "you'd better take care of him, Ivan. You hurt even one hair on his head, you make him cry a single tear and I'll take him away and nuke your ass." He didn't wait for a reply and abruptly turned to Matthew. "Come on, Mattie, haven't eaten anything yet and I'm starving."

He strode past his twin and the Canadian threw them an apologetic grin before running to catch up to his brother, the Russian and Englishman watching them as they disappeared around the corner.

"Well…," Arthur started, clearing his throat as he turned to Ivan with a sheepish little smile. "I am dreadfully sorry about that Ivan. Alfred doesn't—"

He squeaked as Ivan closed his arms around him and gave him a gentle squeeze, turning his head this way and that to make sure no one, particularly Hungary and Japan, had seen them. He relaxed in the circle of Ivan's arms, wrapping his own around Ivan's waist and relishing the secure hold and the coolness that radiated off his body and looking up at his gentle purple eyes.

"I think he meant every word he said to me, _Zain'ka_, and I understand his reasoning well enough," Ivan said with a genuine smile.

Arthur sighed almost sadly. "I know he meant every word, he hardly ever says anything and not meaning it, even if it's about crappy robots and global warming. What I was about to say was that, Alfred doesn't really want to come off as threatening to you and had even promised that he'd be in his best behavior around you. Still, thank you for understanding him."

Surprisingly, Ivan chuckled at that and answered his inquiring gaze. "Don't you think it is kind of ironic that I understand what he's feeling and that he would be more tolerant of me when we hardly agree about anything? And here you are, drawing the best out of us."

"Like I said to him a while ago, you two have more things in common than you would care to admit," Arthur huffed, snorting a little at the incredulous stare Ivan had sent him. He checked his wristwatch with a quick glance. "We have about fifteen minutes left and we haven't eaten anything since this morning. Want to go to the café we saw down the street?"

"_Da_ and I think it would be safe to bring our lunch to the conference room if we are pressed for time as long as Germany doesn't see it," Ivan suggested with a nod as he and Arthur strode leisurely down the halls.

Arthur looked over his shoulder in the direction where Alfred and Matthew ran off to, worrying about the American and deciding to talk to him again. He turned back to Ivan and told him he felt like having something sweet.

Unbeknownst to the pair, a camera peeked from the bottom of the staircase, clicking and collecting snapshots of the two. A pen scratched furiously at the surface of a thick, worn notebook, unheard, and its owner holding back from squealing at the beauty that was _yaoi_.

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Matthew watched his brother eat his fourteenth Big Mac worriedly in the privacy of the balcony he'd taken Arthur to earlier. When he'd finished and seemed to be satisfied for the next few hours, the Canadian laid a hand on his shoulder, catching his attention.

He stared into his twin's painfully cheerful grin, the pain he was trying to keep hidden in those blue depths so apparent. Alfred always had such expressive eyes. He wore his heart in his sleeve, so much so that it could just pop out and break.

"Al," he began softly, "it's okay to cry, you know. I won't think less of you."

With no more prompting needed, Alfred's eyes welled, crystalline tears spilling down his cheeks unheeded, his teeth worrying his bottom lip before he launched himself at Matthew and buried his face in his brother's suit, his shoulders shaking as he cried.

The Canadian couldn't help the tears that sprung in his own eyes, hastily rubbing them with the back of his hand as he held onto his brother tightly and rubbed his back and shoulders, wanting to draw the pain or possibly give him the comfort that he needed but knowing that this was something Alfred should recover from alone.

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**Author's Note:** Quite possibly one of the shortest chapters I wrote. Alfred broke my heart, I have to admit. Still, he's strong and I have plans for him.

So tell me what you guys think and leave me a review, okay? Your comments are appreciated and they tell me what to improve and stuff so criticism is very welcome.

This is like a belated Valentine's Day gift. :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Alright, here is Chapter 13! It took longer than the last one but sooner than the past chapters. Hope you guys like it.

**Warning/s:** Make out session at the end. Underage readers, mind the page breaks, alright? Ultimately, the decision falls unto you.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine!

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Once lunch ended, the nations gathered once more inside the conference room though some had yet to arrive. Usually, Germany would have to wait for another fifteen minutes before taking yet another roll call as some nations have the annoying habit of disappearing after lunch to do whatever whimsical thing that wormed its way into their heads. Eventually, he'd seek them out himself because if he had assigned someone else, then that someone would loiter around. Case in point, last month's meeting when Northern Italy, who was supposed to find France, had disappeared into the kitchens, charming the kitchen staff that had no idea who and what they all were and teaching them how to make the perfect, _al dente _pasta. The chefs hadn't even bothered to feel offended at all as they followed the Italian's instructions; such was the power of Feliciano's earnest smile and coaxing, sweet voice. It took a while to convince him to go back to the conference and only with the promise of a plate of _Capellini_ with Asparagus and _Pancetta_ that he could eat during the meeting.

Of course, in hindsight, Ludwig knew he shouldn't have agreed for Feliciano to bring the pasta as Feliciano took to begging Germany to let him eat during the meeting and it only served to spur the other nations into following his example. Now, South Korea was eating _kimchi_ (1) straight from a jar, Spain and Southern Italy were sharing _paella_ and pizza, Poland was feeding a blushing Lithuania _bigos_ (some kind of meat stew from Germany's understanding), and even Japan was nibbling on dried squid while he scribbled something in Hungary's notebook while she toyed with his camera.

He wearily sighed and rubbed his temple as he accepted that maybe this was better than having his _br__ü__der_ bring out the beer. Looking at his watch, there were four more minutes left before roll call and while there could be a few nations that might still be out doing whatever it was they do, four nations were notably absent. He was a little disappointed that they would be unprofessional enough to bring their private relationships and consequently, their issues, into a World Conference but he hoped that it would not impede their judgment. He knew that it truly wasn't any of his business (unlike most) but he swore to intervene if it would affect the rest of the world.

Two more minutes and a concerned Canada slipped through the open doors followed by a strangely subdued America (Germany would not admit it, but he was a little worried). His gaze followed as the pair stood before their chairs, Canada raising his brows in question while America answered with a slight shake of his head, then resumed their seats. France, who was already seated on his own chair, nudged the Canadian discretely and the soft-spoken blonde turned to him and shook his head, mouthing "later" at his former caretaker.

A minute more before roll call and random nations began to pile in and at the end of the line were Russia and England, the most talked about nations for this month's meeting. The Russian allowed England to go first, a gloved hand pressed at his lower back and pushing him forward while the other held an unassuming paper bag. Before they separated as they sat opposite each other, Russia opened the bag and handed England two small boxes which the Englishman took with a small, grateful smile and went on his way to his seat.

Hungary was a little disappointed that they did nothing else, not even kiss, but Germany supposed that it was for the best and nodded with approval at their good sense if for no other reason than to be considerate to America who watched them sadly.

England took his seat in the middle of his two former colonies and with a glance at all the others who were happily munching on their food despite lunch being over just a while ago, placed the two boxes on the table and decided to open one of the boxes and bring out exquisitely made mini-cakes, one strawberry and cream and the other chocolate with cherry sauce.

He took the tiny forks from the box and laid it beside the cakes before gently pushing the strawberry one to Matthew who accepted it with a surprised thanks and the chocolate one to Alfred whose gaze he met squarely. He smiled and lifted his hand, running his fingers through soft, golden hair and whispered so only he could hear, "Always remember, you are my precious, little boy. _Nothing_ and _no one_ can ever change that."

Arthur nearly panicked when Alfred's eyes welled with tears and was taken by surprise when the American promptly leaped off his chair and tackled him, sending him and his chair to the ground.

"Alfred, you dolt!" he shouted in reflex and wrapped his hands around Alfred's arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"I love you, Iggy. I really, really love you," the American whispered softly in his ear.

"I know," he replied with a smile as he patted his back. "Now, be a good lad and get off of me. My back can't take this kind of trauma anymore."

And America laughed, cackled like he had so many times before in that grating yet endearing manner. "You're getting really old, dude! How do you expect to get down and dirty like that?"

"Alfred, do not be vulgar! I taught you better than that!" snapped the Englishman as Alfred stood up and easily pulled him.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm just calling it as I see it."

He grinned cheekily at Arthur and sat back down. The Englishman was muttering about something or another but he wasn't listening and stared happily at the cake where he noticed their tiny flags sewn into one.

Alfred knew that while things were a little different, they were okay and he was going to be, too.

Matthew watched the whole thing with barely concealed happiness. He stared at his own cake and the tiny inscription made from icing caught his attention. It said _merci_.

As Arthur sat down, he felt the older nation's hand on his arm. He turned to him and Arthur said, "_Merci d'être là pour _Alfred." (2) His heart warmed and he felt himself smiling back at Arthur.

Everything was going to be alright.

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By the end of the first day of the two-day World Conference, Germany had noted that they had finished well within the schedule, even while taking the usual chaos and drama into consideration. The second day would focus on strategies to work through the issues in the reports while maintaining global standards and he knew this would be the more difficult session because it would inevitably include global warming, giant robots, mass-producing hamburgers (or pasta) to solve world hunger and who knew what else.

Still, he knew it wouldn't be the same for everyone if that sort of nonsense were gone.

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The ride back to the hotel was quiet and thoughtful. Arthur asked Ivan to stay in his room for a while and together, they sat on the bed, propped on soft, fluffy pillows. Dinner had just arrived but forgotten, though Ivan thought they were just too comfortable and too lazy in their position to get up and eat. The Russian had his arm wrapped around Arthur while the Englishman laid his head at the crook between Ivan's neck and shoulder, his thumbs rubbing the back of the Russian's free, gloveless hand, humming a little tune.

The Russian had shed his trench coat and dress shirt, wearing only his pants and a crisp, white shirt and Arthur, having his clothing at hand, had changed into a loose, faded shirt and a pair of shorts.

Ivan turned his head a little, just enough for his nose to brush against Arthur's soft hair. He took a deep breath, delighting in his scent and tightened his arm around him. He was thankful that Arthur was in a better mood now. Earlier while they had lunch, Arthur was not quite himself, his thoughts and attention flying elsewhere. He had known it was because of America.

He had told the Englishman about what his former colonies told him when they had been apart, laughingly telling Arthur he had known it would happen. Arthur had apologized needlessly and Ivan had told him so. In turn, Arthur told Ivan a little of what America said to him. He hadn't said much; only that America took it harder than the others.

Of course, Ivan had known what it truly was about and had been at a loss to try and offer comfort. He had known that Arthur cared deeply for America and making the latter unhappy would make him just as miserable. So he tried something he had never thought to do in his life: help Arthur reconcile with America.

"Have you and America fought before?" he had asked.

Arthur had seemed startled at the question but he answered truthfully. "Of course. It was inevitable that we have our arguments. Our biggest argument, as you know, would be for his independence."

"How did you settle back to being friends?" he had asked as he stirred his coffee slowly.

"It took a while. A few words here and there and then we were friends again. We never truly talked about it or anything." Arthur had paused to think and then slightly winced. "I suppose, I didn't make it any easier for us to do so."

"Ah, then earlier than that, when you fight with him, what do you do to make it better?" he had persisted.

Arthur had not stayed in his thoughts for long. "I used to cook him something to eat when that happens and we eat it together. If I'm pressed for time, I buy something from the market and share it with him. He'd be so happy afterwards."

Ivan had thought that while cooking something would carry much more significance, having little time would make buying something more practical and would end this tension much sooner. So he said, "why not give him something you know he'll like to make him feel a little better then?"

Arthur looked at him with wide green eyes before he smiled. "That's a great idea. It might not be much but it's a start, isn't it?"

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it," Russia had replied.

And that was that. Nothing else had been said although he had felt good knowing that he had somehow contributed to making Arthur feel better.

"Ivan," Arthur called softly, his eyes as green as wet leaves, on the Russian's hand as his thumbs wrote invisible patterns on his pale, cool skin. "I didn't say it earlier but thank you for saying what you did. I'd not have thought about it on my own."

Ivan chuckled, his chin resting atop Arthur's head. "You overestimate me too much, _Zain'ka_. Had you been given time to think, you'd have thought to do the same thing. And I did it for myself, in a way, because I don't like seeing you so troubled."

"Still, thank you. I'm so happy that I'm with you," Arthur whispered, his voice low as he looked up at Ivan's eyes and let go of his hand, laying a warm palm against a cool, pale cheek. "So unbelievably happy."

**meru meru meru ****ADULTS ONLY**** meru meru meru**

He slid his hand down the nape of Ivan's neck and pulled him down, the larger nation following his unspoken command and dipping his head to capture those soft lips in his own. He lifted his larger hand and ran his fingers through soft, straw-colored hair, tugging the captured strands in his fist as he felt the smaller nation tremble against him. He licked softly at those full lips, sucking and gently nipping the rosy flesh while his free hand slipped under the loose shirt, his hand curving around his tiny waist before slowly stroking up and down along his side.

Arthur gave a low, pleased cry against his mouth, arching his back and rubbing their chests deliciously together, his own free hand worming its way between them to lift the hem of Ivan's shirt and slip inside, loving the cool, velvety skin beneath his questing fingers as hard muscle bunched and flexed with his touch.

With great reluctance, Ivan pulled back and let Arthur pull his shirt over his head. The island nation gazed at Ivan's chest with wonder in his hazy, green eyes, small hands tentatively touching every scar, every faded wound. He moved forward and pressed his lips to each scar he could reach with such reverence that Ivan felt his heart fill with warmth and, dare he say it, love for this nation who had gifted him with so many things, who looked at him with no fear in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

And then Arthur reached up and kissed him again, lightly brushing his lips against his before licking them slowly, asking for passage that Ivan readily granted as he opened his mouth. He felt heat pool in his belly, dark amethyst eyes, shutting closed as Arthur explored his mouth, his hands finding purchase over Arthur's slim hips as his fingers tightened at every dizzying stroke Arthur's tongue gave his own.

Arthur cupped the back of his head and rose to his knees while Ivan remained seated on the bed facing him, gaining a little leverage in height as he plunged his tongue into the sweet mouth with a demanding passion that Ivan had not expected but happily responded to. With a little mischief in Arthur's part, hinted only by a gleam in his eye, he retreated and plunged yet again into the warm, wet cavern, over and over, in an imitation of what would come.

Utterly and unbelievably aroused, Ivan sucked the appendage in his mouth, unwilling to let it retreat as one hand began to tug the smaller nation's shorts down almost violently while the other was under Arthur's shirt, thumb and forefinger rubbing a pebbled nub insistently as Arthur's breath hitched and his rhythm shaken, purring low in his throat at the sharp pleasure that went straight to his groin as he pressed his chest firmly against those sinful fingers.

Pulling away for a needed breath of air, his hands sliding over the Russian's broad shoulders, Arthur panted and looked down at Ivan. Purple eyes were staring intensely in his own, pupils dilated in pleasure, lips swollen surely just as much as his own. His skin was no longer cool, he realized, instead it was so deliciously warm and flushed, the color rising above his neck and onto his cheeks.

And he knew right then and there that this was neither the time nor place for something so intimate and so beautiful.

"Maybe we should stop here," Arthur began softly. His eyes widened at the sudden hurt that reflected in Ivan's purple eyes. "Not that I don't want to continue! Gods, Ivan, I want to so very much but, at the risk of sounding like a girl, I don't want to do it in a hotel in France like some one night stand," he paused then and bit his bottom lip, "assuming of course that you'd like this to be _more_ than… that?"

He yelped as he was pulled into Ivan's arms, crashing against the hard chest, a hand tangled in his hair. Tipping his face up, Ivan dove and crushed their lips together, the kiss rough and hot and so passionate, it positively sent Arthur's toes curling in pleasure.

"Arthur, must you ask such stupid questions?" Ivan asked fiercely, his lips hovering dangerously close before resuming his ministrations, smothering Arthur's cry of pleasure with his mouth and tongue.

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Later in the night, they ate their now cold dinner, not minding in the least as they shared kisses in between and light touches that ignited and stoked their desire. They slept in the same bed, limbs tangled under thick sheets, their slumber filled with dreams and promises of sweeter times.

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**Author's Note: **I thought it slightly ironic that Ivan had unknowingly saved Alfred from eating Arthur's cooking. Considering Alfred's demeanor, I doubt that it would have made him feel better.

*BLUSH* This is the first time I've published an explicit scene. Goodness… I am embarrassed but I'd be embarrassed more if I sucked.

Please tell me what you think! Did you like it? Did it suck? Was it totally unrealistic? Or was it awkward? Anything for me to improve on, guys.

Think about all the other explicit scenes I'll likely mess up if I don't get any feedback about it.

GUYS, I'm nearing 200 reviews! Thank you so much for all your patience and support. As a bonus, if you are my 200th- 205th reviewer, I'll write a oneshot for you with a pairing of your choice. Just add the details that you want to read about.

**Translations and definitions:**

**Kimchi** – a Korean dish made with fermented vegetables. Originally, according to Wikipedia, it was made from vegetables and beef stock only and is now being made with red chili. Not sure how accurate this is so correct me if I'm wrong.

_**Merci d'être là pour **_**Alfred**—roughly meant as "Thank you for being there for Alfred". I don't know French so I used Google Translate (not mine) and I don't know how accurate it is. Correct me if I'm wrong.


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